When Mark and I moved into our home, I was obsessed with making it perfection. I painted it myself in trendy hues. I placed unread books on bookshelves and organized them by color simply for the aesthetic. I set up little vignettes on counters in groups of three to make my home seem chic, yet warm, you know, a cross between make yourself comfortable and maybe you shouldn’t touch that?
Yes, one day our home sweet home, would be the perfect blend of comfy/zen/chic and people would gush upon entering and then complement it with gusto and envy. (At the very least it would be clean and organized.)
HA ha ha ha ha ha haaaa.
I’m sorry, did I do that out loud? I was just remembering what I envisioned, you know before my kids and pets … and husband ruined, stained, chipped, wrote on, or buried (under toys) everything I owned. Oh, and I had the time or energy to care.
We all had idealistic visions. In my dreams, I imagined people would say things like: “Your house is like walking into a Williams-Sonoma catalog,” and “Your dog is so well trained, he just brought me a seltzer with a twist.” I imagined they would question where all the toys are or how I keep my grout so pearly white or why I haven’t sent pictures into Architectural Digest.
In reality, their questions and comments went more like this (these are things people have ACTUALLY said in my home — and my inner monologue responses):
- “Did your house come with those window treatments?” Yes, I was gonna get new ones, but those were hung and all.
- “I think there’s a Lego stuck in my foot.” Better you than me.
- “Jenny, you know there’s a button missing from your tufted sofa cushion.” Just don’t flip it over, cuz there’s none left on the other side.
- “You have a ping-pong table in your living room, that’s quaint.” – You know there’s a pool table underneath … wait, that might not make it better.
- “I love this piece of art, where is it from?” – Umm, my daughter — circa kindergarten.
- “It’s nice to know I’m not the only one with so much stuff.” Is it? So glad I could be of service.
- “Wow, a wall radio? I haven’t seen one of those in years … does it work?” Yes, it does. If you think that’s impressive, there’s one in the kitchen with a tape deck.
- “Do you happen to have a lint roller?” Not for you to use… Maybe my dog mauled you for the last 10 minutes, but that doesn’t mean you get those precious strips of tape.
- “What a fabulous floor-plan.” Thanks for throwing out the equivalent of using the word “nice” as someone’s main selling point.
Look ladies, I do my best. Frankly, you should be thankful your hand didn’t get stuck to the the refrigerator door, or your foot didn’t get caught in a pile of laundry, which you started to sink into like quicksand, and had to be rescued from when I heard your muffled screams and saw only your fingertips waving … because that’s happened before.
I think many of us Moms envisioned these perfect abodes, and like me … they got them. My house may be filled with once nice pieces of furniture and toys busting out of the seams, but it’s also filled with a ton of love — and it is truly perfect.
I know I got a little sappy on you there. Let me correct that, if you come over and judge my home, I’ll make sure my sofa eats your watch! (That’s better.)