Twelve things on the shelves above the high chair are second-hand. I'm happy to find beautiful, used treasures. I go to the thrift store probably twice a month in search of one of these treasures. You know, something that's so cheap you know it's mislabeled and you would have paid way too much for it, on account of how beautiful it is.
This last time, we went to three thrift stores in a row. First, the Union Mission thrift store which had so many good books it was ridiculous, and Matt and I piled them on until we had 24 books, which we paid six worthwhile dollars for. Loading our car up with Homer Price, Caddie Woodlawn, My Side of the Mountain, Little House in the Big Woods, etc. etc. etc. felt like a steal already.
The second thrift store was a no go, which is the risk you run thrift store shopping. Sometimes there's nothing worth taking home.
The third thrift store was a Salvation Army, and Matt found the pair of shoes that had spurred this trip in the first place. I walked out to the car with nothing, my picky style and small budget limiting my success. That was when the magic happened. Across the parking lot, someone from my church saw my pregnant self making its way to the car. Her kindness propelled her over to us and she said, "We were just about to donate some baby stuff; A high chair, if you want to take a look."
I'm so picky.
I feel like since baby gets a fresh start on life, it might as well only have adorable things. Adorable things tend to be wooden, not plastic, have no batteries, and preferably be hand-made. I almost said, "Aw, no thanks." cause I'd hate to offend someone by not liking their stuff, but instead I said, "Is the high chair wooden?" I fully expected it not to be. Most high chairs aren't.
But that day, the high chair was wooden, in great shape, with fancy detachable parts, underseat storage, a name brand that's apparently impressive, and free. Doesn't it look at home in our kitchen? If only thrifting were always that agreeable.