Fonts: Tabitha

Paper: Bren Boone (Grid Grunge)

Elements: Page Ruffles - DreamScrapper (page Ruffles, Volume 1 and 2); alpha - Sara Marie (Tinies); flowers - O.N. Designs (Raffias)

Key words: rollerblades, blading, page ruffles, kraft paper, glitter, blending


Journaling Reads:

My kitchen floor is nothing special. Its creamy linoleum was chosen for its versatility, its ability to blend with whatever color scheme we might adopt during the years we were to live in our house. When choosing it, we didn’t stop to think of the many uses it would see in its lifetime.

Many feet have joyfully trekked across that floor on their way to recreational pursuits in the family room; feet have trudged slowly across it on their way to the bedroom, after one short pause for a last drink of water. As the prime gathering spot for the house, my kitchen floor has supported the feet of many friends and acquaintances. It has caught the onions that I have chopped, the drips from a leaky dishwasher, and in an emergency, it has even tolerated our dog peeing on it.

However, my kitchen floor was put to its best use on my daughter’s sixth birthday. It not only caught the crumbs from her birthday cake but allowed her to rollerblade for the very first time! Her little body vibrated with her excitement at receiving a pair of rollerblades, just like Mommy’s; she insisted on trying them out, then and there. What other place was there to use but the kitchen floor at the end of March?

After strapping on knee pads and elbow pads and wrist pads and finally the rollerblades themselves, she was ready! Daddy helped to support her while Mommy armed herself alternately with the 35 mm camera and the camcorder.

Initial unsteadiness changed rapidly to the cockiness possessed by the very young. Back and forth, across a space of only six feet; back and forth, back and forth. Fifteen minutes were not enough. Thirty minutes were not enough. An hour was not enough! Finally, amid pleas of, “Just a few more minutes!” and “I don’t want to stop yet!” and promises from us of, “You can do some more tomorrow!” our daughter was finally persuaded to hang up her blades for the night.

As I later surveyed the black streaks scattered across what used to be creamy white linoleum, I just had to smile rather than frown. I’d like to think that the floor was smiling too.