Crayons!

When I was a kid, we were dirt poor, that’s what Mama said, “Dirt Poor.” We didn’t have crayons in our house, or books, or music, except on Friday night when Lawrence Welk came on the television set that Mama bought with the settlement that came from the wreck that killed her oldest daughter and her first husband. It picked up two channels, and we spent most of the night going outside and turning the huge antennae to improve the reception.

Now, I buy lots of art supplies, notebooks, pencils, and pens. I never wanted my children or want my grandchildren to know what it was like to not have things. So, sometimes when I’m in the grocery store, I’ll put three or four boxes of crayons in the basket. My husband doesn’t understand this crayon obsession and it’s just too hard to explain. Today, the Baby is using his crayons to draw on the bathroom door. I don’t protest. Am I supposed to? I’d rather him do art work on the door than stick the crayons in his nose, which is what he sometimes does, so in the grand scheme of things, washable crayons on walls is okay.

Our court date has been postponed because she, my daughter, has an attorney and he wants the court moved into the county where she now lives. I don’t know how I feel about that, the judge who was going to hear our case was familiar with her, but my attorney said not to worry. For today, it’s crayons and my grandson, nothing could be better.