In October 2003 my husband and I moved into our brand-spanking new, first home.
It was thrilling. At the time we were still childless. I had a miscarriage earlier that year, in April, and was laid off due to budget cuts, and massive internal politics at my PR agency. While the first part of the year was emotionally, physically devastating, the second part of the year was full of firsts, hope, and potential.
Let’s just say, we christened every inch of the house, many times over. Those were the days. *sigh* Then the kids came, which while all sorts of wonderful, and fulfilling, was accompanied with that feeling I immediately coined “exhaustapooped,” which is not exciting at all.
Nine years later, and we’ve never worked with a decorator. Neither of us know how to put things together. We know what we like, once we see it, we just have a hard time puzzle-fitting things together, when it’s not each other. *grin*
All of our stuff we’ve bought on sale, or we haggle for. I’m not a fan of shopping without a purpose. So if I don’t know what to buy, I just, don’t. Plus, I’m not a huge spender on things, especially now that we have kids.
Currently, my husband and I are bored, dissatisfied, and needing some spice in our home. I’m not sure if I’ve got innuendo behind that sentence or not.
You might be wondering why I tidied up the room, and made the bed, if I’m entering a contest like this. It’s simple really, Mandi of Vintage Revivals is a designer, creator, a decorating guru, she is not a maid. She will not be cleaning up after me. I’m not that cruel.
Perhaps a bit of Mandilicious glam style will be exactly what our bedroom needs. *wink, wink*
Of course, if Mandi does choose us, we’ll have to have to take her to Apple Hill. She might need to bring her daughters to party it up with ours. Did I mention we have a trampoline in our living room?
ps. How does this work? This post is my Vintage Revivals contest entry. Come Sept 7th the voting begins. Don’t worry, I’ll let you know. Who knows, if the room gets done, we might even pop another bun in the oven. Don’t tell my husband.