Interior Failure

Who here likes HGTV? Raise your hands!!!

Did you all raise your hands?

Yeah, because I didn't.

I didn't even feel the urge to lift my hand in that tiny half-raise that people who can't decide if they're committed or not use.

I didn't even think about it.

Do I like HGTV? Hell to the no.

Strong words, right?

Last Thursday, I was at MOPS. Which is what I do every first and third Thursday of the week. Because I am a Mother of Preschoolers. And I love my church. But mostly I love the women that go to my MOPS and it's the one morning of the week I don't work.

Anyway, there I was at MOPS, enjoying potluck breakfast, my table of fabulous ladies and the speaker as she talked about mission trips and family. It was such a good morning. I laughed, I cried because I was laughing so hard and I had a heaping plate of some of the best breakfast food out there.

But then, the speaker goes on to talk about how she built a house on her trip and who here doesn't like to decorate? And who here doesn't like to watch HGTV?

I'm all, ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

For a second, I thought, Wow. My voice is REALLY super loud. Why am I screaming??? Am I really that enthusiastic about not decorating???

Yes. Yes I am. Only, I wasn't screaming. I was just THE ONLY voice speaking.

Everyone else kept their hands in their laps, firmly confident in the fact that they worshiped loved HGTV.

As they should be. It's their right as Americans, nay, as Human Beings to enjoy HGTV and everything it stands for.

They are welcome to the fixer upper shows and the decorating montages. They can have the buying houses abroad episodes and the house swapping reality experiences. They can be fully versed in backsplash and accent lighting and flooring. They can understand what it means to grout something.

(By the way? What does it mean to grout something? Am I even using that right? Is it like an exotic fish?)

Go for it HGTVers. God be with you.

As for me and my house, we will... not tune in.


It's just not in me. I can't do it.

I think it might be a psychological disorder or something. It starts somewhere in my inability to make decisions, picks up speed with my major commitment issues and rounds off with my brutal practicality.

That's like a soup of dysfunction right there. It's no wonder it took me TEN YEARS to decorate my house.

I'm not even kidding. Not a little bit.

Zach and I will be celebrating the Big Ten in August and I finally started hanging pictures this year.

Previously our walls have been barren and our surfaces have been free of knickknacks. We have been a blank canvas waiting for inspiration to strike somebody.

Just as long as that somebody isn't me.

True Story. A few years ago, I had this bowl. I bought it at a garage sale from my friend Kendra. It was five dollars and she got it when she worked retail at Bath and Body Works.

It's cute. It's a cream pestle and mortar ceramic thing, only big and exaggerated because it's from... Bath and Body Works. And they have absolutely no need to pestle or mortar anything.

Anyway, I thought it was cute. But it was also cheap. So that made it SUPER CUTE. It's also awkward because it's so big and completely impractical. I can't use it for anything. It's purely decorative. Which, if you haven't picked it up by now, means I had no idea what to do with it.

We had recently moved and I had accidentally unpacked it. I didn't know what to do with it. I kept moving it around from room to room, but it always got in the way. So to get it out of my hair, I climbed onto my kitchen counters, balanced precariously next to the sink and set it on top of the cupboards.

After jumping down and miraculously not breaking an ankle, I did a little dance and congratulated myself for getting it out of my hair. There, I thought, I won't have to look at it anymore.

Zach came home a few hours later and noticed it immediately. I had completely forgotten about it by that point. He walked into the kitchen, gave me a huge smile and said, "Look at you! You decorated!!"

And you guys. YOU GUYS. My husband, my never-serious, always-sarcastic, completely-cynical husband was proud of me!

It was awful! How did I confess that it wasn't exactly decorating, that instead it was more like storage-ing? And for five whole minutes I had contemplated throwing the thing away just to get it out of my hair??

Okay, it wasn't that hard. I had no problem owning up to the anti-Martha-Stewart image I'm going for. Zach shook his head. And I said, "Hey look! Put this other bowl up there too! It's in my way."

It's safe to say that I'm not going to be joining the cast of Million Dollar Decorators any time soon.

It's not who I am. It's not even someone I want to pretend I am.

And I've never felt any kind of pressure to make it my thing. Or I haven't until I hit thirty and the pressures of acting like a grown up started to crush my soul with the force of Thor's might hammer weigh down on me.

Also. I found Hobby Lobby.

That might have changed a few things.

Before, for whatever reason, I always imagined Hobby Lobby as this mecca/promised land/nirvana for Arts and Crafters. I pictured aisles upon aisles of stamps and entire blocks of the store dedicated to yarn.

I pictured constant scrap-booking tutorials and Kool Aid mixed with Modge Podge

And while that might still be true, Hobby Lobby is SO MUCH MORE than supplies. It also has pretty things that ARE ALREADY MADE!

First, you have to understand that I am not a crafter. Not by any means. I can't even cut in a straight line.

Real Talk: My mother has banned me from using scissors at her house. That's how bad I am.

And this is hard for me. As a creative person, I feel like I should be crafty. I feel like I should be able to go to Pinterest, find the coolest DIY project and whip that thing out like nobody's business.

I should be able to snap my fingers and homemade teacher gifts should appear on the table in front of me. I should be able to blink and my kids should have the cutest birthday cakes EVER. I should be able to twitch my nose and I should have every single thing in my house organized in the quirkiest storage containers in the history of quirky storage containers.

In reality, I'm not very detail-oriented and I would rather create something in my mind than create something with my too-large, ogre hands.

When I sit down with a craft, things might start off on a good note, but I always end the session by banging it against the table and yelling, "WHY YOU SO HARD!!!! WHY YOU SO SMALL!!!" Then I dissolve into a mess of tears and snot and ruin my decoupage.

It's kind of ironic that my IQ drops when I try to apply my brain to something craft-related. It's like I'm allergic to anything that involves cork, charms and fabric.

As soon as I come into skin-to-skin contact with them, I start to show deadly symptoms. I break out in hives. My fingers start swelling. My eyes go cross-eyed.

Quick!! Someone jab an EpiPen in my chest so I can breathe again!!!!!

This huge personality flaw small peculiarity has made beautifying anything... difficult.

To say the least.

It wasn't until I was dragged kicking and screaming stumbled into Hobby Lobby on a whim that I realized how glorious it could be to prettify my walls.

And my house.

And add some nonessentials to our lives.

That's right, I've started to decorate. It took ten years of marriage, thirty-one years of my life and a hundred dollar gift card to Hobby Lobby for my birthday before I joined the Suburban-Mom cult of Shabby Chic Accents and Canvas Photo Groupons. But I am here.

I made it guys!!!! And I get it. I so get it. Now we can totally bond over Metal Vs. Wood and All of the Very Special Uses for Burlap.

I've even hung up pictures. Like on my actual walls. That is MAJOR.

And on my main floor, I only have one room left to decorate. The rest is good to go. Aren't you proud of me?

I've come a long way. And while I might not be quite ready for the Mothership, aka HGTV. I am ready to finally buy a door hanger. Maybe one that is like a decorative H. Or a fabric-y wreath with a giant flower pinned to the side?

I think that's a good place to start. I don't one yet. And I've recently decided that my once vow to never-ever-ever-ever hang anything on my front door because it was too cutlured/permanent/wrong-for-my-gypsy-lifestyle was a silly, youthful whim. (That I made three years ago.)

I'm so much more mature these days.

Baby steps, people. Baby steps.


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