When I was young, 11 or 12 years old, my mom took me to an auction where I bought a great chair for a few dollars. It was a captain’s chair, with a nice weathered frame and a brown leather seat that had acquired just the right patina over the its one-hundred year life span. When I came home I put the chair in the our barn, which turned out to be an unfortunate decision, because our goats also lived in the barn. One escaped and went on a rampage, which for a goat consists of climbing all over stuff and eating everything in sight. That poor chair didn’t have a chance. (Apparently, this sort of thing is a recurring theme.)
I'm still crying on the inside.
this is good therapy for you sarah…..just let it out!
i like the goat story amy tells about the pink cereal milk……
also the story about your mom being upset every morning because whoever went to bed last didn’t wipe the counter. but it wasn’t a mess made by human. that’s a good one too! lol. i enjoy your family…..
Oh wow. You’re bringing back the (unpleasant) memories. I need to read your comment every time I glorify my childhood in the country…