I have lived in my house for 12 years. I know her, she knows me. Much like a family member, I have gone blind to her wrinkles, scrapes and scars.
Until I have someone new coming to visit. Then every scratch, stain and imperfection lights up like a flare.
The “crap corner” as I lovingly call it, with all the papers, mail and, well, crap that accumulates on the counter.
The toys that I find in hidden places all over the house that reminds me of one of those Highlights Magazine hidden pictures pages.
The once white couch that has morphed into a more sandy color, with its many, many pillows that cover specific spots on the cushions but always seem to be laying on the floor where the fallen fort was built.
That stain on the carpet from six Thanksgiving’s ago that keeps coming back no matter how many times I’ve shampooed it.
The layer of dust on the ceiling fan blades that can only be matched by the blanket of dust behind the TV.
The grubby fingerprints on the walls heading towards the kids rooms that make me want to bathe both the walls and the children.
And that big scratch on the wall that has the perfect picture hanging over it to hide it until I can get the whole room painted.
As I look around the house and soak in all my blessings, I can’t help but think the shabby chic look was a trend long before it became trendy, in houses across America that chose family over the fuss.
#FamilyOverFuss #LivedInLook #KidsMeanMoreThanClean #SorryNotSorry #PlayTimeTrumpsChores #BlessTheMess #LaundryNeverEnds #MagicErasersReallyAreMagical #OutrageouslyOrdinary