As everyone probably already knows, I'm the worst at making decisions. To prove this let me take you through my mind process on a simple decision.
Oh! That looks cute. I want that in my house.
5 months later.
I really want to hang that.
2 months later.
Hey babe, will you hang this for me? You will? Well I think I want it here, but it would look great over here too. What do you think? You don't care? Why don't men care about house decisions? What if I don't like it after you hang it, then I'll be too scared to tell you. Oh, wait. Your zipper is down.
Ridiculous, no? Add to the fact that 'they' say everyone has a certain style. This is where it gets even more interesting. I like everything. Crazy print ottoman? Sign me up! Rustic windows and doors? Mama like. Classic pieces that will never go out of style, greys, whites, muddy blue walls, mexican looking rugs, subway art, plaid..I could go on but I have a fear of carpal tunnel.
Here's my point. Last night when the light was pouring in through the living room, I walked up from the man cave (that's clean and organized! yeehaw!...what?) and got my first home feeling. You know, the kind where you just feel at home. Like your space is finally coming together. That you're content with the pieces you've carefully added.
It's finally coming together. Bam.
Please excuse my unmade bed with clothes all over it. At least they are folded.