Ruby's Digs

I keep meaning to say a word about Ruby's room.

I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I'm super into saying "a word" about all manner of things, these days. It sounds so official...and solemn. It sounds sort of pastoral or Presidential or Public Servant Announcement.

The thing about Ruby's room is, we painted the walls the very first day we moved in (after stripping off the Victorian wallpaper) and we had new carpet installed a few weeks later. And then we lost our ever-living gumption.

It was good enough and she was a one-year old.

She wasn't one of those posh NYC babies who toddle around with their noses in a shelter magazine. She was none the wiser. She was happy enough to suck her two middle fingers. She focused her energy on growing her curls and spitting up and looking cute in every situation.

Now that I've whipped Calvin's junk museum of a room into shape, it's her turn.

I don't have anything fancy/pricey/laborious in mind, because she's just not a fancy kind of girl.

She's colorful and silly and sweet as a brown sugar bon bon.

She's the kind of girl who turns a vintage ironing board into her own, personal desk.

She the kind of girl who makes me wish I had a pink T to wear under my gold cardigan.

First thing on the list? Paint the trim.

A word about painting trim: Blech.

A word about painting trim whilst avoiding the simultaneous-yet-inadvertent painting of newish carpet: Anxiety-provoking blech.

Call me crazy, but I think a girl who starts her Mama's every morning with the self-penned jingle, "Mommy is my 'pecial girl, and Mommy is my favorite girl!" deserves some glossy, white trim.

That's pretty much how it works around here. Write me my own jingle (lyrics and tune, people, lyrics and tune) and you just don't know what variety of favor may fall your way.