Nursery Wall Decals: Jane Impresses Her Mother-in-Law
Posted by Walls Need Love on 10/27/2011
A satisfied customer recently wrote in . . . “I joyfully looked over the nursery wall decals at Walls Need Love.com and patted my baby bump with a smile. I had found vinyl wall art. It looks like original paintings. Even a great artist like, say, Andy Warhol would be fooled if he hadn't seen vinyl wall art before. At last, a way to FAVORABLY impress my mother-in-law!
I left the computer on and walked into the room we had picked out for our little girl. Plain walls with a soft pink tint stared back at me. But now, I had a way to transform them into walls any child (any any mother-in-law) would love. The nursery wall decals would be perfect for this little room. I could pass them off as my own creation. Score one for me. J
Don't get me wrong. I admire Cynthia. She's a woman of undeniable talent, and she obviously loves her son Jonathan, who also happens to be my husband. Mother love is an admirable quality.
Cynthia loves fiercely. She's also a wonderful artist. My mother-in-law makes all of her Christmas presents by hand. She knit stockings for the entire family, even the dog. Cynthia paints. She draws marvelous portraits. She makes pots and fires them in a kiln she built in the back yard.
Jonathan adores her. Fortunately, he adores me even more. It's a really good thing. I have never actually fit in with my husband's family. Jonathan creates bronze statues that sell for thousands. His sister Julie designs jewelry for several swanky galleries. Brad the dad carves totem poles. And then there's Cynthia. Me? As far as arts and crafts are concerned, I have two left thumbs.
I can still hear the conversation I eaves-dropped on that Thanksgiving, the one with the rubbery half-raw turkey I had triumphantly pulled from the oven and brought to the dinner table. Cynthia thought I had left to get take-out for our feast. I had actually forgotten the car keys and come back in for them.
Was it my fault that Cynthia took that moment to malign my career as well as my cooking? I lurked by the kitchen door to listen.
“Poor Jane will never be a cook, or the kind of woman I thought you'd marry. She's a chemist. A PhD in chemistry--what kind of soul-less degree is that? And a math minor! Where is the warmth? The creativity?" She paused to sip some wine. "What kind of mother will she be?"
“Madame Curie didn't do so badly," said my loyal husband. I crept out and drove off to get the take-out. That conversation played over and over in my mind as I perused wonderful nursery wall decals. My art career had begun. Hopefully Cynthia will embrace our baby girl even if her first words are not “pottery wheel” or “sketchpad.”
