A few months ago I scored a train table off of Freecycle. At first I was going to give it to my inlaws for their boys, but they found they didn’t have room for such a large, awkward piece of furniture. It sat in our garage, destined for a yard sale, when I had a moment of brilliance (or white-trash-epiphany, whichever) where I concluded that hey, it’s just the right height, it’s otherwise useless for us so why not turn it into a water table for outside? I mean, right? Why spend fifty bucks on a Step 2 table (that’s OK, probably better, and at the very least, better looking) when we had one right here in front of us? Or we could, with some clever MacGuyvering. And if we’re being honest, cleverness really had nothing to do with it. Cheapness did. But whatever, the girls got a water (and mud, thanks to Daddy) table while I got to bask in my brilliance for a couple hours. Until I realized that Aven had stained her swimming suit with our weird ink mud.
Sometimes it’s hard to reconcile my girls who like to get muddy and dirty and marker-y (and Vaseline-y and ink-y and toilet water-y) with these girls, who like to wear dresses and sit like ladies. Legs crossed, of course.