My two year old is a craftsman, y'all. She made me a tea box for Mother's Day-out of ancient barn board to boot. She might have had a little help from Papa, but I'm pretty sure it was just her bossing him around in the shop. The child made a few phone calls to discuss some rustic love, and came up with a plan. A simple plan, a solution for the eighty odd thousand, tacky boxes of tea I haul out when company stops in. She told me that my excitement over actually getting company doesn't mean that we need to pull out every. single. tea box in the house. I replied, "you're two, what do you know?" Now, now, all sass aside.
|Thanks to Papa for allowing Taylin to hang out in the shop and set up a sweeties shop in there, a big fat thanks for the endless sugar hearts, lolli's and chocolate you always pretend to buy.|
If you pull up to my table I can just yank this perty lil thing out and let you snoop around to see what sort of tea you'd like for yourself. I'd like you to take note of photo A, do you see that Tazo tea that I probably ripped off from a hotel, labelled CALM? Do you think if I drank this by the bucket load it would help? Better yet, do you think if I started to shove it down the children, it would help them?
My love for barn board is increasing by the second. It's in the budget, it's goy-geous, and it might just hold a sweet story or two. I started talking about planking parts of the house tonight and I could see this frightened look in my husband's eyes. I'm notorious for starting projects that are just a little over my head. Really now, what woman isn't?
Now if you'll excuse me, I hear a little cowpoke a hollerin' and I'm thinking I might just put the kettle on.