If my husband leaves me tomorrow, I blame the chandelier. I won’t hold a grudge against it, but it will definitely receive every side-eye I have to give from now on. It will suspend above my dining room table mockingly reminding me of my overwhelming desire to leap before I look. Of course, it’s not the chandelier’s fault. It’s 100%, unwaveringly my fault. I cannot contain myself sometimes and this time was no different.
There are few things I love more than a good project and I actually go through withdrawal if I don’t have something to adjust or redo at least every six months. Aside from moving into our house last year and getting our landscaping shaped up, we haven’t really done anything to the inside of our house. The basement room we use as our shared office and my craft room is the most unwelcoming shade of peachy-brown I have ever seen. It’s like stepping into James’ giant peach and seeing that as we all aged, so did the peach. It’s pit becoming a random catch all with no form or function. In short, it’s become our junk room.