My twenty-something self must be rolling her eyes at my thirty-something self. But I can’t help it. I’m giddy– absolutely giddy– that we have a new mudroom. It hasn’t been painted, nor does it have the hooks up. So for at least another week or two, it’s still not a functional mud room.
But it’s a mud room, nonetheless. We’ve got shelves for all the shoes at the bottom and cubbies up top for baskets to hold hats and mittens (stuff that almost never gets used here in Georgia). There’s a small bench that opens up to store our umbrellas. There will be hooks for coats, backpacks, and purses. Very soon, we won’t be tripping on a gazillion shoes, gym bags, and jackets, on the way from our kitchen to our garage.
The interesting thing about these photos, is that they made the space look enormous. But actually, it’s a pretty small room. I give our carpenters a lot of credit for finding ways to maximize the space.
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We took the Falcons’ loss on Sunday pretty hard in this house, but we licked our wounds by watching the inauguration the following day.
It dawned on me, while listening to a gay Cuban American poet, the swearing in of Vice-President Biden by a Puerto Rican Supreme Court Justice, the invocation by an African American woman, and the swearing in of an African American President– that my kids are growing up with a very different vision of American leaders than I did. That because my daughters were only 7, 4 and 10 months when President Obama first took office, the image they associate with the highest office in this country is that of a black man.
They have no idea how lucky they are.