Let's just assume for the purpose of this post that I lack interior decorating skills. We all know that's a fact, but for my homemaker's pride, we'll call it an assumption.
My sincerest attempts to apply pinterest worthy cohesion to the ambiance of our home resulted in 5 matching throw pillows and a mirror. That wore me out and satisfied the domestic decorating urge for at least another 5 years.
I have a deep appreciation and certain envy over friend's Southern Living worthy homes wondering how in the world they get paint colors and knick knacks to match framed art and furniture. I've questioned how this domestic gene skipped me and then it hit me, like 3 little ticking time bombs of energy.
This home may make Pottery Barn designers pass out, but it's absolutely perfect for little men earning their man badges. These second or third-hand scratched, dated, and worn out couches are perfect for jumping, fort building, and sinking ship play acting.
The warped and stained dining set holds up under utensil mishaps during "dinner etiquette for gentlemen" lessons. The mismatched, throws, the lack of wall art, and the wide open spaces of floor space make way for wrestling matches, tent construction, and secret military operations.
And in the moments of brother tackle sessions, crawling babies, bowling games, spilled goldfish crackers, cleaning pb&j off the wall, abandoning ship off the loveseat, and digging cheerio's out of the toy box I realize God gave me the perfect decorating sense for this group of guys.
The open canvas of our home is decorated with rich memories and stories of laughter, chaos, and smiles. The character etched furniture matches perfectly with the days filled with adventure of vivid imaginations. And then I realize maybe my interior decorating isn't all that lacking..sure, maybe on the walls, but not in the memories we make inside them.