When Hannah was born, we lived in San Antonio, in a small and adorable Arts & Crafts bungalow not far from The Witte and the Botanical Gardens. It was our second house to own, and the first we were able to furnish with real, "grown-up" furniture. (We still have that furniture, and it looks destined to hang around until it becomes college furniture for the children.)
Hannah was an incredibly easy baby (she really didn't protest abut much until her sister came along), but when she would succumb to the inevitable mewling that strikes even the best babies, we'd take her outside, sit in the porch swing and push off, and she'd instantly quiet.
So when we moved back to Austin less than a year later, we took that porch swing with us, unable to part from it and the memories of that first little girl. We've lugged it to each house we've bought since then, but never again have we had a porch large enough to hold it. Occasionally, we'd make noises about building an A-frame from which to suspend it, but neither of us are particularly handy or fond of taking on construction projects, so nothing happened. When my mother visited in March, she couldn't believe we still had gotten no further with our plans for that poor old porch swing.
All this is to say that when I opened the front door yesterday and saw a big box sitting outside it, a box with a picture of an A-Frame stuck to it, I knew exactly who it was from - thanks, Mom!
We'll get right on that, promise.