Wagons, Ho!
Our living room looks as if a Target exploded.
On the piano, baby clothes. On the kitchen pass-thru, men’s wear. Piano bench, women’s wear.And on the dining room table (seats eight,) baby gear.
We’re getting ready for Madeleine’s first trip to Dallas to visit her many relatives, and I feel like the supply chief for a wagon train, organizing our necessities (bouncy seat! Check! Playmat! Check! Piggy! Piggy? Where’s Piggy!!! Whew, Check!) for a one-week trip the way pioneers planned for an eight-month haul across the unsettled territories.