I may have mentioned previously that the entry closet was near the kitchen in the original floor plan. There was some re-arranging on my part (I played Sims for the better part of the last 16 years, I am obviously very qualified to make these types of design changes) where the mud room and half bath switched places, and two feet of space was added to the entire width of the main floor to accommodate an entryway closet, adjacent to the entry door. You know, where Entryway Closets are SUPPOSED TO BE.
For a very long time, we’ve had a sectional sofa with a matching storage ottoman. When we moved I was ready for nice sofas, sofas that weren’t turd brown with an ottoman that was collecting several years worth of foot cooties and food particles. But beyond that, I had the dream. We were out walking Bella on a nice fall day last year when I told Chad about my recently conceived ideal Sunday. It would start with us running, then having brunch, then (after showering of course) relaxing in the salon (living room) for him to watch sports shouting and me to peruse magazines and coffee table books.
I realized that in order for this fantasy to have a chance at becoming reality, we needed a coffee table. I wanted to display my many many many coffee table books that had inexcusably been living anywhere else in the house because I’ve never owned a coffee table.
2016 wasn’t the best year for us … there were a lot of trial-and-error DIY projects, I broke my hip, and a Cheeto got elected president. But there were some good things that happened. Can’t think of any right now…
I love drawer organizers. You need to understand how much I love drawer organizers. But the people who make them have a very weird idea about the specific sizes that drawers come in… and they are wrong. There are certain kinds of drawer organizers I like, and certain kinds of drawer organizers that fit the utensils we have, and making all of those things intersect into the perfect fit so that nothing is sliding around in the drawer every time you open it is a complicated and frustrating process. #FirstWorldProblems
I was so insanely excited to start using the “special treadmill for injured people”. I got into the most ridiculous looking machine you’ve ever seen, one designed to take the weight of gravity off my lower half, and I ran for 30 seconds and walked for 4 minutes and repeated that for as long as they would let me. I was deliriously happy. And then they told me I wasn’t progressing normally and needed to back off for another three weeks. I cried in the car on the way home from that PT visit because I had been holding on to that being my starting again point. The one shining beacon getting me through missing three races. And it was taken away. I was back to square one.
And it finally sunk in what I had refused to admit to myself: I didn’t know where or when my next run was going to be.
Now that we are (sometimes) adults in an adult home, I’ve started to learn that the hub of a foodie house is the kitchen. We spend a lot of time in there cooking, prepping, partying, and yes, cleaning. Which is why the bulk of our design meetings centered around arguing about designing a kitchen that had a lot of space for…