Let's say you had a treasured piece of furniture and you knew a five year old was coming to visit. What would you do? Cover the furniture with plastic? Warn the parents? Expect the parents to take notice of the fancy furniture and have their child sit on the floor?
As I don't have this type of furniture (we dine on chairs from Target) and our visions of a period parlour have yet to materialize) I really have no idea how one would handle this. Maybe that is why a grandma of one of Izzy's friends looks on in dismay as he tumbles over their couch. I know we aren't the only ones to allow our child to jump on the couch, although I have heard certain parents warn that it is only at Izzy's house.
As for my brother, he has never been one to live with fine furniture so even though he slowly and painstakingly restored his home it never occurred to me to tiptoe around his house. So unaccustomed was I to the newfound splendor that I barely noted the lovely silk-upholstered dining chairs or thought much about them as Izzy sat on one, while enjoying his brunch.
Now granted there were folding chairs at the table, which, in hindsight would have been a better choice. Yet I have to think now that had the fancy chairs been my chairs I would not have hesitated to suggest to the five-year old guest, to use those instead. But my brother, said nothing, mistakenly thinking that I would have been monitoring the furniture.
But alas, Izzy and I ate our meal in ignorant bliss and then Izzy ran off to meet the neighbors. They cavorted in the adjoining backyards for awhile and then when I went in search of him he was gone.
Apparently they became fast friends had already made their way up to M.'s bedroom (they have almost the same birthday!) and they were playing as if they had known each other since birth. Now M.(age 5) is the oldest of three boys, the others being 3 years and two weeks. You can imagine that their home does not have silk-upholstery either. In fact, it was a veritable sea of toys. I couldn't drag Izzy away so I suggested that M. join us to sing Happy Birthday, still blissfully ignorant of what I had signed on to do.
When we got back to Uncle E.'s house, the guests were far from ready for any singing. When I told E. that I had brought M. along, he mentioned that I'd better be extra vigilant to insure that he didn't make any more stains on the furniture.
Stains? Had Izzy done something wrong? Well it seems that Izzy had gotten something wet all over one of the chairs. Too late for me to do much about it so I simply hoped they would discover some extremely effective stain remover. When I turned to look at the chair, I noted that E.and his girlfriend had come to their senses and covered Izzy's chair with a cloth napkin.
Chairs became the least of my worries once Izzy and his friend were let loose in the living room, while impatiently awaiting the cake. Toys sailed through the air, couches became jungle gyms and I awaited the thud of a lamp or some other adored collectible.
Thankfully, M.'s dad suddenly appeared on the scene, having been dispatched by his wife to escort his child out into the yard. He explained that he and his wife were worried that some wackiness had ensued. Izzy followed him outside until the moment when it was finally time for the birthday song.
The song was sung. The cake cut. The boys consumed their cake in silence, food often serving as a magical quieting elixir, and then resumed playing outside, where they sadly parted ways. M. had to go to Home Depot and we had to go home.
Izzy is already plotting his next visit to Uncle E.'s and Great-Grandpa's so that he can see his new pal, M. I can only hope that E. keeps the silk chairs away.
As for my brother, he has never been one to live with fine furniture so even though he slowly and painstakingly restored his home it never occurred to me to tiptoe around his house. So unaccustomed was I to the newfound splendor that I barely noted the lovely silk-upholstered dining chairs or thought much about them as Izzy sat on one, while enjoying his brunch.
Now granted there were folding chairs at the table, which, in hindsight would have been a better choice. Yet I have to think now that had the fancy chairs been my chairs I would not have hesitated to suggest to the five-year old guest, to use those instead. But my brother, said nothing, mistakenly thinking that I would have been monitoring the furniture.
But alas, Izzy and I ate our meal in ignorant bliss and then Izzy ran off to meet the neighbors. They cavorted in the adjoining backyards for awhile and then when I went in search of him he was gone.
Apparently they became fast friends had already made their way up to M.'s bedroom (they have almost the same birthday!) and they were playing as if they had known each other since birth. Now M.(age 5) is the oldest of three boys, the others being 3 years and two weeks. You can imagine that their home does not have silk-upholstery either. In fact, it was a veritable sea of toys. I couldn't drag Izzy away so I suggested that M. join us to sing Happy Birthday, still blissfully ignorant of what I had signed on to do.
When we got back to Uncle E.'s house, the guests were far from ready for any singing. When I told E. that I had brought M. along, he mentioned that I'd better be extra vigilant to insure that he didn't make any more stains on the furniture.
Stains? Had Izzy done something wrong? Well it seems that Izzy had gotten something wet all over one of the chairs. Too late for me to do much about it so I simply hoped they would discover some extremely effective stain remover. When I turned to look at the chair, I noted that E.and his girlfriend had come to their senses and covered Izzy's chair with a cloth napkin.
Chairs became the least of my worries once Izzy and his friend were let loose in the living room, while impatiently awaiting the cake. Toys sailed through the air, couches became jungle gyms and I awaited the thud of a lamp or some other adored collectible.
Thankfully, M.'s dad suddenly appeared on the scene, having been dispatched by his wife to escort his child out into the yard. He explained that he and his wife were worried that some wackiness had ensued. Izzy followed him outside until the moment when it was finally time for the birthday song.
The song was sung. The cake cut. The boys consumed their cake in silence, food often serving as a magical quieting elixir, and then resumed playing outside, where they sadly parted ways. M. had to go to Home Depot and we had to go home.
Izzy is already plotting his next visit to Uncle E.'s and Great-Grandpa's so that he can see his new pal, M. I can only hope that E. keeps the silk chairs away.
2 comments:
I remember you taking this picture, but I don't recall making such a horrible face.
Lovely. I should model or something.
Ha. Haha. Ha.
-jb
JB: You don't look horrible, just like a bored teenager!
Post a Comment