My Home Has a Split Personality (And I Might Too)

After living in a 2000-ish square-foot home for 8 years, my husband and I decided to set off on a little adventure by selling our home and moving into a 2-bedroom apartment super-close to his work (close enough that he commutes daily via bike). I won't go into all the reasons for doing so today, but there was definitely some Mr. Money Moustache influence at play. For me, aside from the practical reasons, I really felt an itch to switch things up and get uncomfortable. Tonight, as I sit on my couch writing this post, I'm amused by the ridiculousness of what I've created.

I Almost Have a Stylish Home

First of all, the front door is huge and I have no idea why. It probably has something to do with trying to pull off "luxury living." But, really? What says unnecessary frivolity like a giant fucking door that's like three feet taller than any human? Oh, and the metal blinds on the matching "luxuriously" giant back door have been completely mangled by little fingers in an attempt to see outside because they aren't allowed to touch the deadly cords that hang above.

But you would die for my dining room table. It was made in 1960 and has a beautiful wood grain. The chairs have that retro angular-shaped wooden frame with black vinyl upholstery. There's hilariously only ONE "captain's chair," because, let's face it, Doris was too busy refilling "the captain's" Manhattan to be bothering with those pesky armrests. But I digress...it's a really nice table. Fancier people than I might even refer to as "a piece." Too bad I house children and thus have covered its splendor with one of these felt-backed beauts. I actually hate myself.

Then there is the mid-century modern radio we bought from a retired Craigslister who was in the business of retrofitting them with audio jacks so you can plug in your phone/mp3 player and listen to music the (almost) old-timey way. And you can put wine in it. But my 5-year-old likes to balance himself between the beautiful vintage dining room table and the beautiful vintage radio and chipped off a big chunk of the bottom of it. This is why we can't have nice things.

We have taken on my husband's grandparents' chair - an odd little wooden thing with multi-colored flower upholstery. I can't decide if I even like it. No one really sits in it and it's usually just the place we put laundry baskets full of clothes that will not be put away for several days.

The mid-century modern TV stand has all sorts of little nooks and crannies that I've filled with toys for the kids. I like the way it blends the design aspects we love with the real-ness of living with kids in a way that feels fun and right.

I have a hand-me-down electric piano that I've tried to get into playing more times than I can tell you, but just doesn't really inspire me. A yellowed copy of Clair De Lune, lovingly given to me by my father-in-law, rests atop, waiting for me to pick it up again. I keep it because, well, I feel like I should. I have fleeting ideas about my son or daughter getting super excited about playing piano and wouldn'tcha know it, I just happen to have one ready and waiting! And also, if I got rid of it, I would have a space on the wall that would look weird. Isn't it funny how we buy a home and then get started with making sure all the little spaces have the appropriately-sized object to fill them up? Seems a little backwards.

In a moment of insanity, I bought a super-chic and modern, L-shaped heathered grey low-profile couch that came with a matching ottoman when we first moved into our apartment. 98% of the time, every square inch of it is covered with the four incontinence mats we used during the 978657688 years of managing a certain child's bed-wetting habit. It's classy. (Side note: These mats are amazing though.)

There are two perfect black and white sketches in big, bulky black frames above my couch; The leftmost one is of an antique telephone with a wire that leads off the canvas and to the right. The rightmost one shows that same cord coming in from the left and leading up to a satellite in space. It's a rare piece of art that my husband and I both love immensely and it always puts a smile on my face. It feels like me. Like us.

There is a karaoke machine on the floor. Every now and then it's SO fun. But usually, it's just someone cranking up the volume, putting their mouth around the top of the microphone, and making moaning sounds.

There is a very quirky hedgehog quilt draped over the side of the couch that was made by my husband's aunt. It's just the right amount of classy and whimsical. It's one of my favorite things.

There's a reading nook over in the corner by the bathroom. Every night the kids and I snuggle up there with a gigantic and ridiculous Costco bear that my brother insisted my son needed (he was right) and read classics like the Potty book, the Eye book, Goodnight Moon, and that stupid Caterpiller Spring book that the kids only love because of the caterpillar that pops out when you open it (It's certainly not because of the story line). And now the big boy can read them to his sister without me even helping...which makes me so proud and breaks my heart. Despite my best efforts, the bear always looks like he's dead and the books are splayed out across the floor instead of neatly stacked in the darling tiered shelf I bought on OfferUp.

It's Never Just One Thing

So yeah...some of it works. But most of it is trying REALLY hard to work and failing miserably. Is it just me, or do we choose items for our home when we're thinking of our most idealistic selves? It all feels like one giant analogy for the internal conflict I feel within myself. There always seem to be two opposing forces, both of which feel super real and authentic to me, but that detract from doing either one with purity:

• The professional business owner and the busy mom
• The minimalist and the lover of nostalgia
• The one who wants things to be just so and the one who accepts that real life is messy
• The fanciful one and the practical one
• The one who's always organized and the one who feels like she's constantly 2 weeks behind on laundry

And I know life's never as black and white as all that and that's part of the fun and yada yada yada, but man, the idea of living in just one or the other seems so luxurious. But of course...that cannot be so.

Maybe, as time goes on, we start getting smarter about all this and figure out ways to still keep the "ideal" in ways that are manageable (the wall art, the beautiful quilt), while leading more with function on the rest. Art and science. Form and function. They don't have to be mutually exclusive concepts.