You'll Crack Your Head Open!

All of a sudden I’ve started to get interested in decorating blogs.  Which is really strange for me.  Because I’ve always thought I had no hope in that department.

 I typically have the decorating sense of a 19yo frat boy.  I didn’t decorate our first house.  I didn’t decorate our last house.  All of the stuff that was left in the house we bought a year and a half ago is still just the way it was when we moved in.  The walls are still the same colors.  The valances in the family room, which are an ugly red and beige plaid, are still up.  The previous owners left us their huge entertainment center, which is kind of an early 90’s oak.   All of the shelves in the clear glass area are gone so things are just piled in there.  The previous owners also left the nails in the walls when they painted, so I’ve used the nails to hang things like clocks.  I’ve got my kids’ art work stuck to the walls with tape. 

 It’s not that I don’t like nicely decorated rooms.  I do.  But whenever I read decorating magazines or watch decorating shows, I just get frustrated.  Those people just seem to know what to do.  They take a pillow or a picture and can magically design a room around it.   Complete with art work, knick knacks and decorative painting.  I just don’t get it. 

Every once in a while I decide I’m just going to decorate and start shopping.   But everything is SOOOO expensive.   I can’t stand the thought of spending thousands of dollars on furniture, wall hangings and knick-knacks that I’m not going to like anymore in five years.   I’m way too practical for that.  If I’m going to spend that much money on something that’s just pretty to look at, I’m keeping it for a long, long time.   I mean, a plain couch serves the same function as a pretty couch, without the extra money spent. 

I do get decorating ideas.  I’ll look at a room and think of things I’d like to do.  But I never do them because I know in two or three years I’ll hate it and want something else.  But I’ll keep it anyway because of all the money and time I spent on it.  Over the last 8 years since we’ve been homeowners, I have gone through four distinct decorating schemes – all imaginary because I never did any of them. 

First was the green with sunflowers.  I was going to do kind of a country thing.  Cute little signs.  Sunflowers.  Watering cans.  Stuff like that. 

That was followed by the lavendar flower phase.  I bought a beautiful quilt set that had lavendar and yellow flowers.  Kind of shabby chic, but not.  I was kind of commited to this one.  I even covered our couch in fabric that had big purple flowers on it.  I used duct tape.  I wrapped the fabric like I was wrapping a package and just taped it.  It looked fine.  You couldn’t tell unless you lifted up the seat cushions.  And really.  Who’s going to come over to your house and start pulling your couch apart?  Nobody.  So it worked fine for me.  Loved it. 

Then there was the deep colors with gold accents.  Burgundys, emeralds and golds.  I was just going to do a couple rooms like that but I was picturing things like heavy velvet curtains and gold cording.  I’m especially glad I never commited to the burgundy bedroom with wrought iron accents.   Or did I?  I seem to remember a burgundy comforter set with the gold cording…  Hmm..  But I never did anything more than that. 

That was followed by the orange phase.   Which is my most recent phase and one I thought would really stick.  I loved it.  All the warm colors.  Very comfy.  But about six months ago I could feel myself losing interest.  Now?  I’m totally over it. 

That’s about an average of two years per decorating phase.  So you can understand why I’m so hesitant to commit to anything.  Could you even imagine all of the money that would have been wasted if I had completely commited to any one of those?  O!M!G!   It makes me nauseous just to think about it. 

So I end up not doing anything.  Which I hate.  A lot. 

But recently, I started reading decorating blogs.  Blogs like the Nesting Place , Bienvenue, Just a Girl , Joys of Home , Shabby Nest and A Soft Place to Land, among many, many others.  These women are geniuses.  They have taught me so much just by writing their blogs.  Here are some of the things that I have learned -

- Thrift stores, garage sales and clearance racks are awesome.   If you buy your knick knacks here, who cares if you give that vase to goodwill in two years.  And who cares if it gets broken.  It was only five dollars in the first place.  No big deal.  No long-term commitment. 

- Spray paint is a decorating tool.  If you don’t like it, spray paint it.  If you still don’t like it, try another color.  When your favorite colors change…  hey look!  Spray paint.  Or goodwill. 

- You can use scrapbooking paper for anything.  Cover a canvas with it and you’ve got a wall hanging.  Put it in the back of a shelf.  Use it as a matt for a picture.  Cover a canister with it. 

- Mistreatments.  The Nester, at the Nesting Place, coined this phrase.   She doesn’t do everything decorator perfect.  Her curtains aren’t sewn.  If you look really closely, the main thing she used to put something together was probably either upholstery tacks or hot glue.  Maybe both.   But like I said back when I duct taped my couch, who’s gonna look? 

- It doesn’t have to be perfect to be beautiful.   Another thing I learned from the Nester.  So what if your valance is a little off center.   It looks cute. 

- Somewhere on one of these blogs I also found my new favorite color pallete.  Black, white and apple green.  Too cute.   I can’t remember who this is from, but I love it.  So bright and breezy after my cozy warm colors phase. 

I actually went to Goodwill last week and found a couple of really cute items right away.  I’ve got them on my mantel right next to each other.  I’ll have to take a picture one of these days when I don’t have a half nekkid 4yo trying to jump in front of every picture. 

My best friend is going through a horrible time right now.  It reminds me of my husband talking about watching someone he went white water rafting with get sucked into a whirlpool.  They were in a big group of several rafts and everyone in their boat ended up in the water at one point.  This young woman, who he didn’t know, ended up in a whirlpool.  It kept sucking her in and under and then spitting her back up to the surface.  She was swimming as hard as she could, but it just kept sucking her back in.  A bunch of times they’d think that she was going to make it out and then it would just suck her back.  Hubby said that this went on forever.   For 20 minutes or more.  There was nothing that anyone could do for her.  If someone tried to go in they’d be stuck in the whirlpool too.  Too far from shore to throw a rope or reach a branch.   Just when they thought she wasn’t going to make it, the whirlpool let her go and they were able to get her to shore.

There have been so many times this week that it looks like the whirlpool has let my friend go, but then it grabs her back under and pulls her through for another spin.

I won’t say that watching someone go through so much pain is harder than going through it yourself, because that’s  not true at all, but it’s so hard.  I wish I could do more.  I wish I could say more.  I wish I could be there more.  But there’s nothing I can do except stay on shore while she’s swimming and fighting and be there to help her to shore when the whirlpool finally lets her go.

Today seems like a day when the whirlpool might be loosening its grip.  But I don’t trust it.  Just when she can almost touch the bottom or grab a branch or a rock, she might go under again.   All I can do is stand here and encourage her.  Tell her how strong she is.  Tell her she can do it.  She can make it.

It feels so useless because I just want to be able to grab her hand and be able to add my strength to hers.  But the pain she’s going through is something I can’t touch.  I can’t rip it out of her hands and stomp on it for her until it’s dust that can be blown far away from her.   She has to hold that rock of pain in her arms until it slowly wears away.  And she’ll get there.  I know she will.  She has God.  She has me.  She has her family and friends.  The rock will get smaller.  Someday she won’t even need both hands to hold it.  Eventually it will be small enough that she can put it in her pocket and only be reminded of it when she feels its sharp edges rub against her, or goes searching for something else only to unexpectedly discover it  again.

Finally, I hope that this is happening for a reason.  I know it has to be.  Even if it didn’t start out that way, God will always turn everything around to use it for our good.  To give us greater strength or a new perspective.   I hope that years from now she can look back on this period of her life and see that she gained something.   I know we can’t see it now.  All we can see is the whirlpool and the rocks.

But beyond this current struggle are flowers and meadows and beautiful vistas that God has placed here just for her.

The Little Filly had a great first week at school.  She loves her teacher SOOO MUCH.  She’s just as excited (so far) about school as she was last year.  She also decided she wanted short hair.  She wanted super short, but momma could only deal with so much, so she ended up with a bob that’s a bit above her shoulders.  It looks really cute and is much easier to deal with in the mornings.

I’m slowly getting used to getting up at 6am.  I could set the alarm for later, but that’s when Joyce Meyer comes on and I’m much more likely to wake up and watch her.  If I set the alarm for 6:30 I’d probably snooze for another half hour and then have to rush around.  I figure I’m going to need to get up early for school for the kids for the next 14 years so I might as well get used to it.

I haven’t even told you about the BEST thing about first grade.  First graders don’t have to be walked to their classroom.  That means I can DRIVE UP to the front of the school and DROP HER OFF.  I’m VERY excited.  Which I’m sure you could already tell.  What with the CAPITAL LETTERS and all.

Yep.  It’s gonna be a good year.