Friends, I am out of state for the lovely wedding of a wonderful friend. Until I get back to Utahland, please enjoy the writings of Jetset Carina, AKA the lovely Azucar! Some people I have friend crushes on, some people I have people crushes on... Carina is my blog crush. And she is about to become yours too.
Beautiful Things, by Carina
Do you know your beautiful things? That lamp that you serendipitously found in that tiny thrift shop? The gorgeous necklace your aunt gave you for graduation? The glass vase from your wedding, the antique sideboard, your new taupe couch with the perfect pillows?
Pick them up, handle them with care, and shed a tear, because none of them are safe.
Congratulations, it's a boy.
I don't remember the first beloved possession of mine to disintegrate in front of my eyes, but I remember the feeling. I loved it with a memory, it was whole, and now it was broken.
I lost my new turquoise necklace to an afternoon pirate who had raided all the drawers to find wearable booty. One minute the necklace was swinging through the air, the next, blue beads shot across the room in a shiny spray. We grew alligators on our carpet, so the boy had to jump from chair to chair. They weakened until the pedestals collapsed to the side, forever tipping the chairs at a jaunty angle.
Do you know how to catch a monster? Smear toothpaste on a wool rug. Do you wonder why that lamp stands up so straight? Perhaps a few hits with a light saber will make that prideful lamp shade tip its rim and fall off every time you go to turn it on. Can't find a wipe for your bum? Just use a merino wool sweater.
Rocks in pockets go into your dryer. Green army men march down your drains. Glass doors are more fun in pieces. Pots are just for banging.
And sometimes, when you take a head butt in the ear, breaking your earring, driving the post into the soft skin, it's OK to cry a little. When you just can't face your shattered clock, your newly Sharpie'd wall, or the burned Anthropologie hand towels that were put inside your oven, just let the tears fall. What else can you do?
There is a reason that there are daddy's girls and mama's boys: a boy fills a mother's heart with more love than she has ever known for a man. You need that love, because you can't love just things anymore.