Sweet Salvation

Man, I have a new lease on life now that I have accepted that early mornings are part of my life.  I popped out of bed at 5:59 AM when I heard Sadie– I was quick enough to intercept her before she stormed Simon’s room.  I was drunk with power and acceptance and it wasn’t even 6:00 AM.  I could already tell that letting go of sleep machinations was going to put some serious pep in my step.  I am almost certain that my new-found energy and vitality steered Sadie and me to an unexpected destination today that very well may have changed the course of our lives.  My first idea was for Sadie and I to spend some time together figuring out this whole Syria situation.  Then, I got a better idea.

Sadie and I spent 1.5 hours in the Salvation Army (hereinafter “SA”) today.  And every second was pure awesomeness.  It started out very prosaic: we dropped off some old clothes and books because I had a 30-minute period this Spring when I thought decluttering was the key to spiritual salvation.  (Turns out, it works better if you get those bulging bags out of your bedroom instead of tripping over them for 6 weeks.)  Rid of my 3 bags of clutter, I glanced at the two-story SA and thought that exact same thought that propelled lots of genius-y people to greatness: “Why not?”

The minute we walked in there, I sensed something in Sadie I haven’t seen before. She’s a born thrifter.

Mama's Lil Thrifter

Mama's Lil Thrifter (with Baby Hannah)

She was spotting treasures left and right, and may I just note that is not easy in a place packed with that much stuff.  We did great on the first floor looking at purses and hats.  I admit it: I wouldn’t let her touch anything.  She is also my child who is most likely to shove shit in her mouth so I had to keep my keen eagle-Mom eyes on her.

Then I saw it.  The crude black and white sign indicating that up one lowly flight of stairs one could wander through SA’s “bric a brac” section.  “Sadie, come on!”

Here’s how they should describe that section: “Heaven on Earth.”  We spent time among the books– we counted up to 15 copies of What To Expect When You Are Expecting. With the priciest books going for 1.99, I decided to indulge my book love with some treats for mama.  It’s almost as cheap as a library and just as dirty! Score.

Mama's cheap treats

Mama's cheap treats

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Then, we found the toys.  Turns out Sadie has a sixth sense for finding treasure among junk.  She found a fully operational ATM machine toy. I wanted it so badly, but Sadie put the brakes on because it didn’t open.  (“But, Sadie! It talks! It lights up!”– “No, Mommy, put it down!”)  Sadie found a baby doll she wouldn’t let go of even to try out the Elmo scooter.  I figured we had plenty of time for her to lose interest and I could buy her something less…contaminated.  We wandered over to the toys, which, strangely, were located by the women’s plus-size under-garments.  It will be a while before I get some of those images out of my head.

Look what we got for Simon:

Gently Used Hoop

Gently Used Hoop

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He’s going to flip his 15-month-old, 90th percentile head.  I can’t wait.  I swear I didn’t get it just to coerce him to say “Mommy.”  But hey, if it works, that’s a great use of my $7.00.

I couldn’t get out of there without the baby doll.  Before we ever got out of the toy section Sadie had named her Hannah.  I couldn’t very well let her leave without Hannah.  She has insisted on playing with Hannah for the rest of the morning, which means, no, I have not disinfected her in any way.  It’s disgusting; I am disgusting, but Sadie’s happy and I just console myself that it’s the same as when she goes to other people’s houses and plays with their stuff.  Right?

If you are detecting an air of superiority, you better f-ing believe it.  I can’t tell you how many times I have asked someone about their new wagon or playhouse or push toy only to be told that it was .50 cents, and it came from Craigslist.  I can’t do anything on Craigslist because it makes me want to rip out all of my internal organs: it’s too confusing, the merchandise I want is always in some suburb 50 miles away and there’s too many ads to comb through.  But tomorrow, when someone asks me where I got my basketball hoop, I will be such an ass about how I got it for $7.00 at SA.

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