Just another one of the delightful ways I’m bringing “old lady” back.
I’m a terrible cliché. Another mom in her mid-30s realizing that traveling the safer road leads to a content, if somewhat predictable and dull, life. I’ve been worrying less and less about appearances, although I suspect I always will to some degree. Instead, I’ve been taking inventory of my house and wondering how much of it is me and how much of it is safe, Madison Avenue nonsense. I can say the same about my wardrobe and car, but for now let’s focus on interiors, shall we?
I’ve decided my home could use a bit more Jules. I’m not exactly sure what that is, but I’m hoping it’s like obscenity: I’ll know it when I see it. My checkerboard-ish floors were incredibly cheap and done on instinct. They are very much me, and one of the features of our home people compliment us on the most. So is my vintage lace tablecloth and roses from the garden. I’m discovering that I am a formal person. Formal, but irreverent. I could never litter my house with lace doilies without balancing it with something less stuffy. Hence, bullhorns.
I have a list of people I admire for their flagrant disregard for the formulaic in their homes. I will post a round up of pictures soon. I would do it now, but the lawyer in me insists on permission from them first. Stupid bar card. Always spoiling my fun.