Hope Springs Eternal

While sitting in the waiting room of my daughter's dance class, I thumbed through home decorating magazines. I absolutely love them. They're so full of potential. They give me hope that I could have a house with a fully decorated and organized laundry room, French antiques in the foyer, a room specifically designed for gift wrapping, and a living room whose central focus is not the television.

Sadly, this is not my life. And every time I read these magazines (and it's often), I begin to realize how many people don't have children. Clearly, these homes cannot be inhabited by whirlwind furniture destroyers. I do not, and could not own, an antique, pointy-edged mahogany coffee table. I have a highly-scratched veneer jobbie that opens at the top (so I can throw all our mess in it when company comes over), purchased along with my groceries at the local Zehrs. My ultra suede couch was purchased, not because it looks like suede, but because it repels purple popsicle stains. When company comes over, I have to scrub the toothpaste spit off the bathroom mirror and close the kids' bedroom doors.

But the magazines give me hope. Hope that someday (we'll be paroled in 14 years) I might be able to have furniture that is coaster-worthy. Ah, to dream!