Moving on. I want to write about our stroller--our fraying, rickety, used and abused stroller. Every time I push that thing I want to curse it and be ashamed of it and put it on a pedestal with a big bow to display to the world, all at the same time.
That stroller provides me a constant reminder of my good and selfless husband. Mushy, gushy, I know.
Here's why: Late last summer, as we entered the new school year and began preparing for the birth of our baby whose gender was still unknown, a friend of a friend's friend (you get the idea) was preparing to move to Europe and trying to sell a bunch of stuff. She posted to a local online cork board her desperation to sell quite a few baby items, and I responded with tentative interest. I told her we didn't even know our baby's gender and weren't sure what we would be needing. She mentioned that she had a few boxes of used boy clothes, a car seat, and a jogging stroller that needed some fixing up but that was in good condition otherwise. Since none of it was selling, she asked if I'd be willing to take the lot for $25. I agreed to look at it, and we arranged a drop-off at my house.
I ended up not being home for that drop-off, and my husband intercepted the items instead.
When I got home later that night, he mentioned that instead of $25, he'd paid the lady $40 for her things. She had seemed so desperate as they spoke--she and her husband were moving to Europe for his job and had no money and no room to take anything and she was so stressed--and at first it had looked like a lot of stuff. I scanned the small pile and realized immediately that we had paid $40 for junk. The car seat was disgusting. The stroller was covered in cobwebs with one wheel detached. And the boy clothing was wrinkled and stained and just thrown into boxes. I stared, wishing I had been home in time to tell her no thank you, there is a reason that stuff won't sell.
Preston then realized that, as far as our interests were concerned, he'd made a mistake. He felt terrible, frustrated that he hadn't noticed the condition of the items. I, too, wanted to be angry that he hadn't noticed. I wanted to be angry at the lady for actually accepting that money. I wanted to tell him to start paying more attention. Yet, in a moment, I realized that he had, in fact, been paying attention to the most important thing: a scared, anxious woman seeking any form of security.
We learned a couple of weeks later that we were expecting a girl. The boy clothes and car seat, after a washing, were sent to the Goodwill.
But we kept the stroller, hoping something could come of our purchase.
Preston spent an afternoon working on the wheels, trying to get the thing to steer straight, while I scrubbed the seat and attachments thoroughly. After a lot of trial and error, we pushed the stroller down the driveway, and then did a happy dance--it had rolled straight, all wheels attached.
Now, months later, as I push my new little daughter along in a stroller that wiggles and whines in protest, and my cheeks begin to flush, I shake my head and laugh.
I have one caring husband.
That stroller provides me a constant reminder of my good and selfless husband. Mushy, gushy, I know.
Here's why: Late last summer, as we entered the new school year and began preparing for the birth of our baby whose gender was still unknown, a friend of a friend's friend (you get the idea) was preparing to move to Europe and trying to sell a bunch of stuff. She posted to a local online cork board her desperation to sell quite a few baby items, and I responded with tentative interest. I told her we didn't even know our baby's gender and weren't sure what we would be needing. She mentioned that she had a few boxes of used boy clothes, a car seat, and a jogging stroller that needed some fixing up but that was in good condition otherwise. Since none of it was selling, she asked if I'd be willing to take the lot for $25. I agreed to look at it, and we arranged a drop-off at my house.
I ended up not being home for that drop-off, and my husband intercepted the items instead.
When I got home later that night, he mentioned that instead of $25, he'd paid the lady $40 for her things. She had seemed so desperate as they spoke--she and her husband were moving to Europe for his job and had no money and no room to take anything and she was so stressed--and at first it had looked like a lot of stuff. I scanned the small pile and realized immediately that we had paid $40 for junk. The car seat was disgusting. The stroller was covered in cobwebs with one wheel detached. And the boy clothing was wrinkled and stained and just thrown into boxes. I stared, wishing I had been home in time to tell her no thank you, there is a reason that stuff won't sell.
Preston then realized that, as far as our interests were concerned, he'd made a mistake. He felt terrible, frustrated that he hadn't noticed the condition of the items. I, too, wanted to be angry that he hadn't noticed. I wanted to be angry at the lady for actually accepting that money. I wanted to tell him to start paying more attention. Yet, in a moment, I realized that he had, in fact, been paying attention to the most important thing: a scared, anxious woman seeking any form of security.
We learned a couple of weeks later that we were expecting a girl. The boy clothes and car seat, after a washing, were sent to the Goodwill.
But we kept the stroller, hoping something could come of our purchase.
Preston spent an afternoon working on the wheels, trying to get the thing to steer straight, while I scrubbed the seat and attachments thoroughly. After a lot of trial and error, we pushed the stroller down the driveway, and then did a happy dance--it had rolled straight, all wheels attached.
Now, months later, as I push my new little daughter along in a stroller that wiggles and whines in protest, and my cheeks begin to flush, I shake my head and laugh.
I have one caring husband.
