This is my dining room in it's natural state. And this is our table. We don't eat dinner at the table enough.This table was a gift from over a decade ago, when I moved into my first apartment, and it was from the first family I nanny-ed for in Oregon. My mom hates this table. It's covered in marker, pen, paint, scratches, dents and dog hair at times. But I've raised ALL my children at this table, meaning the ones I nanny-ed for, and now my daughter. And until it falls apart, it's staying.
My daughter does arts and crafts everything and all the time. I haven't figured out a decent way or space to organize the mania, but she is always drawing and creating things. Once a week we clear this table, but during weeknights it pretty much stays like this, and I'm kind of in love with it.
I've never bought furniture from anywhere but an Ashley Furniture outlet (my husband's recliner) and Ikea. Although from time to time I get used pieces from online interactions like Craigslist or Facebook Marketplace. We've been given everything else as a gift, and are so fortunate for that.
I dreamed once of nice things and furniture sets, you know Pottery Barn type illusions, but then I realized how little that actually has to do with making a house into a home. I'm also so busy with motherhood, work and life, that my home time is limited, so rather than obsess about it looking a certain way, I'd rather it be functional and comfy.
My uncle used to have this joke that first apartments and homes are always decorated in the style of "American Poverty," because it's enough to just have a roof over your head, let alone fill it with stuff. I always love being around people who have the eye for decorating and fill their home with pretty and nice things that match, with little accents for their home, but I'm always afraid I'll mess up their house in some way.
My house is very much "lived in." It's broken in, comfortable and, I hope, welcoming. Its is wonderfully imperfect no matter what. From the weathered grout, which is my serious obsession in superficiality, the non-matching furniture, the crazy colors of bedroom walls and the stuff...everywhere, it's everything that is US.
Maybe it was too many years of my Friends obsession but, much like Phoebe, almost all of my furniture has a story, however simple or small. So we have the dining room table story covered, and the long bench with it was Eben's cousin's. Our couches came from one of my favorite co-workers from a past job who was kind of like my "work mom." We have two recliners, a buffet, a coffee table and a piano from my old boss. He was going to give really good furniture and a PIANO to Goodwill! It just needs to be tuned, hello!
Our queen bed frame is from IKEA and has followed us to 3 houses from it's construction. The construction, my husband teases, was almost a breaking point in our marriage because that thing was so difficult to put together! We keep it now as a guest bed, after it was our daughter's for 2 years and ours for 2 years before that, and we reference it as a joke often.
Our king bed frame was from Facebook MarketPlace and they lived 10 minutes away. I had an old boss help me pick it up, and he was not a fun person to move things with as he didn't understand the difference in my size versus his, and how to move furniture with someone small but mighty. The king mattress and box spring was an amazing gift from one of my favorite people from when we got in the car accident as our mattress at the time was just on the floor in the old house. I cried when I came home from the hospital and saw it, and I miss that friend every single day because she got me through one of the worst times in my life.
My daughter's room is 90% hand me downs. Her toy box was my mom's and then mine. Her kitchen set came from another gorgeous friend I miss daily, her train table from another mom that I went to boot camp with and the dollhouse was mine. Her princess TV is from another mom friend and her daughter. There is some various Ikea furniture that we put together that didn't result in divorce, and her dresser was mine when I was baby and has followed me every place I've ever lived. Her new bunk bed is from Facebook Marketplace; I repainted it and my dad fixed it to the wall and built stairs for the dog to join her atop her full sized loft.
My husband and I have 2 dressers we got from family friends whom we love and appreciate a lot and lastly, we have my mom's old cedar chest filled with my grandmother's things. Oh and a hutch I bought from Luna's swim teacher that I repainted and filled with my grandma's china. That is probably it, I think. Everything has a story, and nothing matches, and I LOVE IT.
This wasn't always so. This has taken me YEARS. I used to love my apartments before we had a kiddo because everything would stay as it was when I was out. When you have a kid suddenly furniture becomes a liability. Or they put crayon on cushions and stain your favorite duvet. But, that's part of parenthood and adulting.
My mom tries to force on me "matching things" and "newer things," but I like what we have and I don't need to waste money on new stuff just to have something new! My table being a mess means my daughter is creative. Her room in disarray means she was using her imagination. Blankets all over the couch means my dog is comfy.
Everything I have is coated in sentiment and memories. There are layers of stories and emotions, even life phases that go with it. You can always rearrange to give things a different look or refreshed style, but replacing all the furniture seems really silly to me. We don't entertain much and let's face it, I have very few people to impress in my life. I'm just an anxious, working mom trying to get through each day and enjoy life when I can. If you can't enjoy my mess, don't come over. Take me out for a drink instead!
I spend hours cleaning every weekend. I maintain my house with family help and love all of it because it is ours. I don't care how cluttered, okay I do have a limit, I'll admit, but it's still mine and ours. Every area is part of home. I haven't had a place like that since I was 15 so I'm digging my heels in and enjoying the space, no matter how messy it can get, it's mine, it's my daughter's, my dog's and my husband's real, live home. Furniture can be bought and we can arrange and style any way, any day, but the memories will be stronger than any dining set, sectional couch with matching ottoman or bedroom set could ever be.
For now I'm going to enjoy the method to the madness because there are good times to be had, clean house or not. And the picture below is the result of my daughter saying, "Hey mom take a picture of my table. It looks pretty." Oh and this table was painted and styled by my sister, driven across the country by my dad, also after the car accident. I forgot that one too! So many stories with the furniture, so little time! Here's the cute table:
Happy Thursday readers!
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