before + after: the office.

Today is my first day off in a couple of weeks, and I have exactly enough energy to put on sweatpants and engage in a Gilmore Girls marathon. I have a tendency to work until my body tells me it's time to rest, meaning I'm now congested, sinus-y, and desperate for a good night's sleep. 

But before Monday, there was Sunday. 

My family came for their second work day at the store and tackled a list of things I needed to be done and simply couldn't do alone. Together, we painted the store's bathroom and built a bookcase for story time supplies. We installed metal pipes to hang extra bags and hung a curtain in the children's section. 

And then we came to the office.

 

 

I work several hours a week in the store's office paying bills, maneuvering QuickBooks, and scouring catalogs. I do almost all of the store's marketing and design work from the office, and I've got to say: The space was not conducive to creative work. It was unorganized, cluttered, and tiny. Even after the owner cleared out much of her belongings, it was still a depressing place to work -- no windows; white, sterile walls; and an odd desk set-up that made my back face any potential visitors.

 

Some people can work anywhere. They can plop down with their laptop in the middle of chaos and somehow, get everything done. They don't need pretty lighting or just the right music or room to spread out. 

I am not one of those people.

Working every day in what essentially was a storage closet was taking its toll on me and my work, and while completing tasks from home is, for me, ideal, it's not exactly convenient. Our home is still 45 minutes away from the store, and as a newcomer in this small town, I know it's important for me to maintain a physical presence. I needed to be in the shop, but I dreaded sitting down at my desk to get things done.

I don't think that's going to be a problem anymore.

 

The store is such a cheerful place to be, and now my office -- where I spend so much of my time these days -- reflects the same energy I hope is present throughout the shop. It's still a really tiny space, but now, I face out so visitors can't surprise me at the door. I can leave the fluorescent lighting off and work by lamplight. I have space to organize bills and receipts and catalogs. It feels like I'm starting fresh and can create my own systems to work. It finally feels like something is mine. 

I was supposed to use my day off to decorate our house for fall. It's still 90 degrees here, but I'm anxious to get our home ready for my favorite season. It turns out, of course, that I'm too exhausted to do that today. The pumpkins and candles and leaves will have to wait until next week.

That's okay. The effort we spent at the store yesterday was so worth it. This week, when I sit down to do some of the more mundane (and difficult) tasks of ownership, I'll be sitting in a space that looks and feels a lot more like me. I imagine I'll be able to focus and regroup; I'll be able to do the job without being burdened and exhausted by it. 

It's amazing what a little change in scenery can do. 

Fabric bunting :: The Pleated Poppy

You've Got Mail prints :: Alexa Z Designs

Frames :: Target

Washi tape :: Target

Paint color :: Minted Ice by Behr

Rug :: Target 

making do (an instagram wall tutorial).

Our lease is up this summer on this little cottage I love so much, and under normal circumstances, I think we'd be renewing. (Leaks and maggots notwithstanding.) But while we're contemplating the purchase of The Bookshelf, we're also contemplating a move for our family. The store, I think I've mentioned, is 45 minutes north of Tallahassee, in the small, Southern town of Thomasville, Georgia, and we both think it's better for the business if we live and work with the community there. 

So on top of buying a business, we're also thinking of buying a home, which -- as so many of you know -- is incredibly stressful and time-consuming. (Think hours spent scrolling through Zillow.)

And because I am, admittedly, more often forward-thinking than present-thinking, I've had a hard time focusing on our current state of things. I haven't cleaned or kept up laundry like I should, and I've got pieces of artwork laying around that I haven't made the time to hang. I keep thinking about our future house instead of our current one, and you know what? 

I'm tired of it. 

Here is the truth of the matter: We are where we are. We're planning to go month-to-month with our lease, and we have yet to fall in love with a home in Thomasville. So, for now, we're staying put. This is still our home. The present is just as important as the future. 

Behold, then, our Instagram wall (inspired by Natalie of "Nat the Fat Rat" fame). And because it took me a while to figure out the best way to create this beautiful new masterpiece, I thought I'd share my tips. (You may have a quicker way; this is just what I happened to decide worked best.)

1 - This would be an incredibly easy project to complete if you had enough money to print your photos through a service like Printstagram. Instead, I chose to print my photos through CVS. The prints were much cheaper that way, and I could pick up my photos the same day.

2 - For this project, it's best to print your Instagram photos as 4" x 4" squares. (My Instagram photos start as 8.75" x 8.75" in Photoshop with a resolution of 72 dpi; I'm not sure if that's universal or not.) When I originally uploaded my photos to CVS, it blew up my images to fit into a 4" x 6" rectangle, and the photos would have been grainy and not high enough in resolution. 

3 - Download your Instagram photos. (I used Instaport.) This puts all your Instagram photos in one folder onto your hard drive. 

4 - Open each image in Photoshop or a comparable photo editor. Change your image size to 4" x 4" and 300 dpi. (As I said, the default for my photos was 8.75" x 8.75" at 75 dpi.) Next -- and this is most important -- change your canvas size to 6" x 4". This will add a white border onto each side of your square photo. 

5 - Upload your 6" x 4" photos into CVS or another photo printing service. You should have no difficulties with size or resolution now that you've edited them in advance. 

6 - Once your photos are printed, trim the white borders from your photos. Voila! You'll have 4" x 4" squares perfect for your Instagram wall. (I printed 144 photos at CVS for $18; 24 photos through Printstagram is $12.) The photos are glossy, which isn't my favorite, but otherwise, they turned out perfectly. You can also do this project with your own 4" x 6" images; just crop them to the 4" x 4" square. 

7 - I started off using Scotch poster tape to put my photos on the wall, and I'd recommend it for your own photo wall. I ran out about a third of the way through the project, though, and because I'm impetuous, I went ahead and used regular tape for the rest. I'm not sure it matters, but the poster tape stuck really well and didn't leave any air bubbles. 

8 - You could probably skip this step, but I measured my wall in advance to figure out how many squares would fit on my sized wall. You can be more haphazard with this than I was, but I liked the clean lines and even spacing. After measuring my first row, I eyeballed the rest without any difficulty. 

Fun! This project cost about $25 -- including tape -- and took me about 3 hours yesterday afternoon. (I spent the most time editing and uploading my photos.) I may have made this more complicated than necessary, but I couldn't figure out how to print my square Instagram photos through CVS without the photo service changing their size and resolution to a 4" x 6". I thought this was a fairly easy solution, and I'm really happy with the results.

I think I'd forgotten how much I love sprucing up our home and making it our own. This project was an easy way to get back into the DIY routine. (And CVS is advertising $.12 on their 4" x 6" photos this week, so consider this your invitation to create your own wall over the Fourth of July holiday!)

a word on gardening.

"'That is very well put,' said Candide, 'but we must go and cultivate our garden.'"
- The final line of Voltaire's Candide

Out of all the books I read while in the Great Books program at my alma mater, Voltaire's Candide is at the top of my list of favorites. It's an odd choice, I think, compared with the ones my peers and other readers of the program might choose, and to be honest, I don't remember much of the substance of the work anymore. But every now and then, that last line comes back to haunt me. It sneaks up in my memory and finds a place in the life I'm living today, and I think that's the mark of a good book. 

This spring, my dad came over to our house and helped me build a raised bed in our backyard. The end result is kind of a monstrosity -- I can't remember how many bags of dirt it wound up taking to fill -- but I'm proud of it. It's something I helped drill with my own hands, something my dad and I did together, something I spent an entire day working on without the presence of a computer or a phone. I think I'll remember that day for a long time, both for the end result and for the joy of working alongside my father. 

I am not a green thumb. Most of the plants I buy wind up dying, often quickly, but sometimes in a slow, probably painful way. I start off strong, inspired, undoubtedly, by some magazine article or the success of a friend. Eventually, the excitement wanes, or worse, passes, and I throw the plants away, so content with my own mediocrity I'm satisfied if they even survived half the season.

This reputation with plants earned me a lot of well-deserved caution before embarking on my first vegetable garden. My dad checked with me over and over again to be sure I thought I'd have time to water it, cultivate it. Of course! It was spring, and everything felt new, and I had a fun job, and life was settling down. My friends were moving, and I distinctly remember saying something along the lines of, "If I can't take care of people, I might as well take care of plants." 

Fast forward to this summer, when I've had anything but time. I can hardly remember this spring, when I planted flower seeds alongside my mother and vegetable plants with my father. I can barely remember what it's like to dig deep in dirt with my hands, to wait with patience for the end result. It feels like years ago instead of months, and yet, each day, I'm picking tomatoes from plants I planted. 

It's a summer miracle. 

Back in April, I planted strawberries and tomatoes, squash and cucumbers. I also planted zinnia and sunflower seeds, just for kicks. My strawberries were planted too late, but see that picture up there? That was my one, beautiful strawberry, and it was delicious. 

The squash... Well, it's been kind of hot. And I got one abnormal looking squash before the whole thing wound up looking like that vine Jonah watched a worm eat. My cucumbers, though, are growing; they're not pretty, but the few I've had taste good, just like the prettier varieties I see at the grocery store. 

And the tomatoes? Well, I've got those by the dozens, and they're all beautiful and amazing and I could bite right into them they taste so good. I can't describe how happy it makes me to pick a tomato I grew, to eat it on a sandwich or cut it up for a salad. It feels miraculous and magical, and I feel like I partnered with both my fathers to make something pretty incredible. 

This summer has not at all been what I expected, intended, or planned. It has been chaotic and stressful and tearful and hard, and I almost forgot about the simple summer I had envisioned -- one filled with home-cooked meals and home-grown vegetables. 

But then, last week I found out my dad was coming over to check on my garden. (I had a bug problem that needed investigating.) So when I pulled in from work, I didn't go straight to the couch or to the TV or to Netflix or to bed or to put my PJs on. I walked over to my not-exactly-well-tended garden, and I got to work. I pulled weeds and mixed up the earth and threw my long-ago-dead squash into the garbage can. I cultivated my garden, just like Voltaire and my father and his father and the Father suggested I do, and you know what? I felt better. For 30 minutes (though I never did look at a clock), I worked my little patch of land, and I forgot that my friends had moved, that my job was a mess, and that my church life was falling apart. Instead, I saw proof that God is faithful -- the garden is faithful -- even when I am not. 

I looked up from my garden, and across the driveway, in another strip of dirt long forgotten -- never watered -- I saw my zinnias, popping up, one by one. 

My grandfather, the greenest thumb of them all, had a metal sign propped up in his garden while I was growing up. "He who plants a garden works hand in hand with God." 

I couldn't have put it better myself.

galentine's day 2013.

Occasionally I exhibit what I call absent-minded-professor tendencies. I spend weeks prepping for a party, but can't figure out who to invite. I pick out decorations, themes, appropriate colors, but the food we'll all eat remains a mystery. Thus begins this year's Galentine's Day tale.

I sent out invitations to my book club weeks ago detailing this year's event, encouraging them to invite their own friends since Galentine's Day is most assuredly one of those the more the merrier kind of holidays. I emphasized Leslie Knope and "hos before bros," but figured details like where and when were less important. I just assumed we'd hold the party where I'd held it last year, at one of the only local restaurants in town that serves breakfast past noon. (Breakfast for dinner is a big part of the Galentine's Day concept for me, mostly because: who doesn't love night-time pancakes?)

A few days before the big event, I tried calling the restaurant to make sure they'd be okay with nine of us coming in for a party, equipped with our own decor. They'd laughed at me last year when I'd called to make reservations, so I figured a phone call a couple of days in advance would more than suffice this time. Unfortunately, no one ever answered the restaurant's phone, not any time I called. And while normally, I'd find that disconcerting, I kind of shrugged my shoulders and figured something was wrong with their telephones. 

By the time Tuesday finally rolled around, I had Izze sodas; colorful napkins, notebooks, slap bracelets, and treat bags (thank you, Target dollar bins); but no confirmation the restaurant would actually be open. About four hours before festivities were set to begin, I decided to call the restaurant one last time.

Guys, someone finally picked up. 

Turns out, they're now closed in the evenings. (Tallahasseeans must not like breakfast for dinner, which is just about the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard.) My Galentine's Day party was all dressed up with nowhere to go. 

Luckily, my friends all check their phones religiously, so a few mass texts later, I'd moved the party to a different restaurant -- one that would also let me bring my own decorations and goodies -- and Galentine's Day commenced with the usual fanfare. 

I used to kind of hate Valentine's Day, mostly because in high school, Valentine's Day is pretty miserable. It  is. There's no more "everyone gets a Valentine because everyone is special" mentality. It's the most intense of popularity contests, with flowers held in the school office and names called over the intercom. It's the one part of high school that really is like the movies we see and the books we read, and it's never fun for those who aren't at the top of the food chain. Even in college, when Jordan and I were dating, Valentine's Day wasn't my thing. I'm not overly affectionate or romantic -- not in the red roses kind of way -- and a holiday with loads of pink and chalk-flavored hearts seemed silly to me. 

Now, though, I choose to celebrate all kinds of love on Valentine's Day. Last year, Galentine's Day really helped me see that a holiday devoted to love -- all kinds of love -- isn't silly at all. It's fun. It's fun to celebrate those we love. Valentine's Day is a way to express our gratitude to people who choose to be in our lives, choose to love and appreciate us, and it's a small way to appreciate and love them right back.

A lot of people shy away from throwing parties, maybe because it requires work and effort and yes, vulnerability. But I am learning all the time that life is really worth the effort. Parties don't have to be perfect to be fun, and most of the time, our friends and family are eager just to gather together.

The specifics of hospitality (even though I love them) are rarely as important as the act itself.

I guess what I'm saying is: Throw a party. Get together with your friends. Show them you care. And it's still February, which means you could legitimately throw a Galentine's Day party tomorrow. I bet your friends would be thrilled. 

doing something is better than doing nothing.

{photo by Julie Cope}

Occasionally I discover what Gretchen Rubin calls a "secret of adulthood," a truth realized and tested after months and years of hard-lived experience. 

One truth that has popped up repeatedly since my grandmother's death earlier this year is this idea that doing something -- even if it's done poorly -- is better than doing nothing. 

After my grandmother's death, a handful of friends chose to live that truth: they came to the funeral, left food on my front porch, and sent emails filled with sweet words of encouragement and remembrance. 

Other friends were uncomfortable, and that's okay. Death is uncomfortable. It isn't fun to think about or talk about, and I understand the not knowing what to say, and choosing to settle for silence instead. 

But I am so incredibly grateful for those few friends brave enough to do something, and it has inspired me, in moments when courage feels far away, to choose the something over the nothing. 

For me, that means doing things I'm not necessarily good at for the sake of people I love. It means making time to cook a little extra for friends who might need a pick-me-up. It means sending birthday cards even if they're a month late. It means doing instead of talking about doing. 

A friend of mine has a baby due in a few short weeks. In the middle of her pregnancy, she and her husband decided to sell their home and buy a new one. On the day they were to close on both of their homes -- the one they were selling and the one they were buying -- the family buying their old house backed out of the deal. My friend and her husband were ready to move; they had all of their belongings packed in a truck. In a single moment, that changed. They chose not to buy their new home without selling their old one, which meant unloading the contents of the truck back into the house they'd already said goodbye to. 

In the middle of all of that chaos, I was busy with my own plans. I was traveling and work was a little nutty, and I didn't do anything. I couldn't. Life was hectic, and my friend understood that. 

The chaos has died down, and my life, in turn, has returned to a fairly normal pace. That rough patch my friend was going through is over, and I missed it, really through no fault of my own.

I think there's another secret of adulthood at play here, though.

Better late than never. 

Sure, the moment may have passed. My friend and her husband are happy and -- amazingly -- moved back into their home. I missed helping with that process, and I could just wait until another crisis hits before lending a helping hand. 

But that's silly, isn't it? To wait until I'm needed to be a good friend?

So last Tuesday, I took my friend dinner. I made twice baked potato casserole, and I bought chicken from Publix. I sent over apple cake a friend had given me and Jordan that I knew we wouldn't be able to eat before heading out of town. I added a gallon of my favorite lemonade and the latest issue of Real Simple magazine. 

It wasn't all made from scratch. It wasn't really timely, wasn't sent over when my friend really needed it. 

But everybody likes free food. Everybody likes a warm meal they don't have to cook. Everybody likes kindness, even if it's a little overdue. 

Sure, it's better to be the friend who's right on time. Sometimes, though, life doesn't allow that. 

When that happens, I want to choose to be a friend anyway. Even when it's late. Even when it's not entirely homemade or perfectly planned. 

Doing something is better than doing nothing, and it's better to be late than to never show up.

stuff.

"The nicest thing you can say to me about my home is that it's homey, and people say it all the time. I like it. And at a certain point, I can't say when, I realized I didn't really give a damn about any of it." 

- Anna Quindlen, Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake

So we moved.

We moved, and it was hard and stressful and exhausting, but you've moved too, so you already knew all of that.

What you may not have known is that prior to the move, I spent hours researching rental homes. I made pro and con lists. I sketched to-scale designs of nearly every living space, picked out paint colors, bought new rugs, and sold a few unnecessary possessions on Craigslist.

In short, I became a bit obsessed, and right in the middle of it all, I heard this sermon and read Anna Quindlen's book.

They came at just the right time.

Don't misunderstand: I don't think there's anything wrong with having pretty things and picking out nice furniture (you've saved up for) and making a house look more like a home.

I love all of those things.

But I sometimes forget it's just stuff.

"I now feel I know the truth about possessions," writes Quindlen, "that they mean or prove or solve nothing. Stuff is not salvation."

We live in an era of Facebook and blogging and Pinterest, and we are bombarded with inspiration and glossy magazines and Photoshopped pictures of immaculate living rooms with sheepskin rugs.

Perfection claims to exist, and that's a difficult standard to meet when the laundry's piling up and chicken noodle soup boiled over in the kitchen. (True story.)

I bought some really cute new things for our cottage, items I'm happy I purchased because we saved for them and because I think they'll last longer than the stuff we brought with us from college.

But it's still stuff, and it doesn't make my life better or worse.

I think that's the biggest lie I've bought into, because I'm a firm proponent of retail therapy, of a rewards-based system in which the occasional "prize" is necessary for a stressful task completed and a job well done. (I wrote about my "prize mentality" here.)

All the prizes in the world, though, won't change my reality. As Quindlen says, we've bought into this idea that  "House Beautiful should be subtitled Life Wonderful."

It's unfortunate, because life is already wonderful, even without Target shopping trips and new red suede shoes. (Yes, I want a pair, even while writing this post.) 

I don't really need anything else, and I think that's what I've got to remember, especially this fall, when our finances change a little bit, and we find ourselves living on slightly less than we lived before.

The thing is, even when we're living on less, we're living so far above what so many people live on each year. It's embarrassing, almost, how much we make and how wealthy we are in the grand scheme, and I think I need to be humbled and realize: We already have what we need, and it's far more than what most people have.

During our move, I was so disappointed in the amount of stuff we had, but weren't even aware of. When you move, you pack up boxes, and they arrive at your new home, and they multiply. Just when you think you've got one thing unpacked, there are other items lurking in another box around the corner, and it's terrifying when you realize just how much -- and I don't use this term lightly -- CRAP you own.

For a lot of reasons, I'm reevaluating what we have. I'm trying to declutter, to only have those things in my home I find useful and beautiful. After my initial house purchases -- all of which are lovely and which I'm glad I bought -- I'm taking a break from spending. The pullout sofa? We'll save for it, and maybe buy it in time for Christmas. Anything else? It will come in time, maybe, after we purge a little bit and make sure we're not hoarding things no person should ever have.

And for the things we do wind up purchasing this fall, I'm thinking, too, of implementing a "one for one" rule: When I buy a new something -- whether it's a shirt or a pair of shoes or a handtowel or a book -- I get rid of something else.

"When I fall back into the old ways," says Quindlen, "I remember Willem saying on Christmas morning, 'But I already have one.' That's my new mantra, and it applies to almost everything."

I couldn't agree more.

an intentional home list.

Don't forget to join Annie today for the start of the Ablaze series. Her thoughts on pursuing God in singlehood are spot-on. 

---

We think we may have found a house. 

I started this hunt for a rental home back in May (okay, I'm an over-planner; it was more like April), and I've now seen enough terrible, no-good, really bad houses to be pretty cautious about exuding any unnecessary excitement over what might be "the one." We haven't submitted a security deposit or finalized a move-in date -- all that is still in the works and very much up-in-the-air -- but we're hopeful our jobs and combined income and very apparent excitement over this house will be enough to put things in our favor.

If all goes well, we could be moving in August, just as we'd originally planned. Our fingers are crossed, and our prayers are innumberable. 

So I've been cautious for a week now, trying not to get too excited based on the disappointments of the past few weeks. I'm trying to keep my expectations low, but yesterday? Well, yesterday I got a little overzealous and started picking out paint chips and -- in a fit of inspiration and happiness -- created an intentional home list. 

Jules has long been one of my favorite bloggers, so this year when she officially launched her William Morris Project, I was eager to follow along. I'm a big believer in making your home a happy, welcoming, intentional place, no matter how permanent or temporary it may be, so her weekly posts on establishing beauty and order in her home have been inspiring. They've also, though, become increasingly difficult to read, since I've begun to look at our current rental as something in the past (forgetting, of course, that it's still very much a part of our present). With a potential move scheduled for later this summer, I've kind of let our house go a bit; I'm not really interested in pursuing house projects or making this place any more of a home than it already is. I'm beginning to think in terms of the next step instead of the current one, and while I'm not entirely proud of that, I am a little bit proud of the result: An intentional home list for our new place. 

We may not wind up in this house; I know that, and, believe it or not, I am prepared for disappointment. (It wouldn't be the first house we've lost this go around.) But I've decided to embrace the high expectations portion of my personality, and I'm planning ahead just in case things go in our favor.

I want our next home to be similar to our current one; I want it to reflect our personalities and serve as a welcome retreat for our friends and family.  I want it to be cozy and calm, and I want it to look loved and well cared for.

Without further ado, our intentional home list for rental house 2012, complete with ideas and projects specific to the house we've found that we'd like to make ours (temporarily speaking, of course). This post is intended to serve as a guide for us, should everything fall into place in the next few weeks, so no worries about reading every portion of the list in its entirety. This is just me, doing what I do best: planning, with a little over-thinking thrown in.

Front yard: A fun, inviting, well-manicured space welcoming neighbors and friends home. 

1. Clean up landscaping. 

2. Define walking path for visitors. 

3. Spray paint Adirondack chairs and place for neighbor-greeting and lemonade-drinking.

Living Room: A calm, cozy entry point establishing a welcoming atmosphere for friends and family. This room will inspire relaxation and conversation, with space to visit, watch television, and gather around the piano. 

1. Purchase new sleeper sofa, to be used by guests when they come to visit. 

2. Hang family photos and inspirational artwork that represents "us."

3. Purchase a large, comfortable, patterned rug. 

4. Lighten up the dark, wood paneled walls with well-placed lighting and bright art. 

5. Move piano into this space and make the time to play together. 

6. Create a seating area perfect for conversation and Netflix-watching. 

Sunroom: A cozy nook perfect for naps and reading a good book. 

1. Utilize the built-in bookshelves, making sure not to clutter or overcrowd. 

2. Create well-lit atmosphere, emphasizing great windows and potential for book-reading. 

3. Allow natural light to shine through. 

4. Create potential for mixing and mingling between living room and sunroom; avoid creating an entirely different feel or space. 

5. Hang artwork and family photographs, again avoiding clutter. 

6. New window treatments, probably sheer panels.

Dining room: A place for conversation and a nurturing spot for meals that mean something. 

1. Utilize current dining table and painted chairs. 

2. Update table with fresh flowers on a weekly or biweekly basis, since table is seen from front door. 

3. Let in natural light. 

4. Replace light fixture to brighten up dark paneled walls. 

5. Hang artwork and family photographs. 

6. Use window treatments from current living room to bring in color.  

Kitchen: An inviting, light, airy space, perfect for creativity and meals made together. A fun, no-stress zone. 

1. Paint walls mint green. 

2. Paint bottom cabinets white. 

3. Black or bronzed hardware. 

4. Buy cute dishdrainer, making sure to keep dishes cleaned and washed regularly. 

5. Display only kitchen-useful items, avoiding clutter. 

6. Grow herbs utilizing Ikea system. 

7. Leave counter space empty to provide for cooking meals. 

8. Hang fun, cheerful artwork. 

9. Purchase fun, colorful rug to tie in home's colors. 

10. Establish an entry point at back patio door since this will function as our entry into the house. 

11. Hang large chalkboard. 

Pantry: A well-organized, well-lit zone to aid in cooking and cleaning. 

1. Paint walls mint green.

2. Hang curtain to separate from kitchen.

3. Store party dishes, centerpieces, and serving trays. 

4. Store cleaning and ironing supplies. 

5. Hang fun piece of artwork to make workspace personal.

Back patio: A welcoming retreat, perfect for an outdoor meal for two or a party with friends.

1. Purchase or utilize current outdoor table, making room for at least four. 

2. Cover A/C unit with fencing. 

3. String outdoor lights on picket fence and in surrounding shrubs and trees. 

4. Pot useful, pretty plants in colorful, unique pots. 

5. Find space for current potting bench. 

6. Store grill where it will be usable. 

Master bedroom: A calm, stress-free getaway from life's distractions. 

1. Paint walls light grey.

2. Keep big, bulky furniture to a minimum.  

3. Utilize closet space. 

4. Get rid of outdated, unworn clothes prior to move. 

5. Let in natural light. 

6. Purchase private but airy window coverings. 

7. Purchase small flat screen TV to minimize bulk. 

8. Create corner for Junie. 

9. Purchase a pretty laundry bin. 

Office: A clean, clutter-free zone for paying bills, managing home, and tackling creative projects. A well-organized space where everything has a function and place, where guests can come and go without disturbing the peace. 

1. Paint walls light grey.

2. Purchase new, smaller desk for Jordan. 

3. Update filing system and place in closet. 

4. Organize crafts. 

5. Leave open space for guests' suitcases and belongings, as well as for an air mattress. (Though ideally guests will be using the sleeper sofa, they will need a comfortable place for their belongings.) 

6. Hang Jordan's artwork. 

7. Store Junie's crate for when we're gone for the day.  

Bathroom: A clean, well-lit space for our use and guest use. 

1. Paint top-half of walls white, embracing yellow tile.

2. Hang white shower curtain.

3. Replace toilet seat. 

4. Install shelving for toiletries and towels. 

5. Cover washer/dryer space with curtain. 

6. Purchase bathroom rug. 

7. Purchase new soap dishes and toothbrush holders.

* image from April edition of House Beautiful

advice for the renter.

Jordan and I have been looking for a rental home for three months now. I started my search a couple of months early for this very reason; I understood Tallahassee was not an easy market for renters, and I knew we'd need plenty of time between now and our August 1 lease-end date to find a new place to call home.

What I didn't count on was just how frustrating the search would be.

Don't get me wrong: Jordan and I are no strangers to the rental market. We've been renting in Tallahassee -- a college town -- for four years now, and our budget way back in 2008 was tiny. We were living on my measly little salary, and our money didn't go very far. We saw our fair share of ugly, ill-cared for apartments and townhomes, so I thought we were adequately prepared for our 2012 search, especially since our budget today is much larger, and we're four years older, wiser.

Wrong.

Our larger budget hasn't translated to more quality rentals, and I'm not sure if that's because of where we live (college towns = college-aged renters) or because of where we're looking. I've seen the inside of 10+ rentals, done more drive-bys than I care to count, and we've only seen one rental property we've even come close to signing a lease on. Each tour is a learning experience, but that doesn't make the journey any less infuriating, especially since it feels as if we're no closer to finding a rental than when we began. I know, too, we're living in a buyer's market, which can make it difficult to determine if it's really wise to sign a lease right now, or if we should stick it out in our current place for a year or two more, lazy landlord and all.

All that to say: We're learning some things. And perhaps the lessons we're learning will be helpful for some of you, especially in this age chock full of inspiration, but lacking in common, practical sense.

1. Know your budget and stick to it. Our own budget covers a pretty wide range, but now that we've looked around and checked out the market, we know what we'd most likely have to spend in order to rent a place that fits our criteria. Basically, the more we've been looking, the more our budget has morphed from a range of dollars into a practical, stick-to-it number. We're trying to be realistic, too, knowing that the smaller our budget, the more likely we're going to be renting a dump. That's just how it is in this town, and that's good to know so our expectations don't get out of control.

2. Create a must-have list. What are your non-negotiables? What are the things you are looking for in a new place, and what are the things you figure you can do without? Our must-have list looks like this:

- Charm

- Hardwood floors

- W/D hook-ups

- Dishwasher

- Updated kitchen

- Walkable neighborhood

- Central heat and air

We've seen a lot of places, and we know now what we're willing to compromise a little on (it's okay if not all of the floors are hardwood, and we don't need a brand new kitchen with stainless steel appliances, just something large enough to cook in together). Our list might look extensive, but it helps us keep things in perspective and prevents us from wasting too much time on home tours and Craigslist searches.

3. Be a savvy renter. I respond to Craigslist ads through my work email address to show potential landlords I'm a professional, not a student. I go to house showings with Jordan or with my mother or a friend, never alone. (This was a lesson learned the hard way a few weeks ago, when I took a house tour where I was less than comfortable being alone with the property's current tenant.) I also make Jordan call properties since I tend to sound like a young child over the phone. I always ask the same questions (Am I allowed to paint? Are small, older, well-behaved dogs allowed? Who is responsible for maintenance and how quickly are problems handled? What are the average utilities? Is the neighborhood safe?), and I try to get them answered in person. I also do my own research so I can see if the landlord or property manager's answers match up to what I'm able to find online. (In Tallahassee, you can search average utility costs by address.) I also never act like I'm in a rush or pressured to find a rental, which in our case happens to be true. Our current landlord is flexible, and we're not in a hurry. If a property managers tries to get us to sign something that day, I'm turned off. I never like being pressured into things, and a rental house is no exception.

4. Trust your gut. There's only one house we've been ready to sign a lease on; we took a tour that day, and after sleeping on it, we were ready to sign a lease. I had already drawn floor plans and pictured our furniture in all the right places. Then, as you know, we discovered the home didn't have a dishwasher. Up until that point, we hadn't ever toured a place that didn't have one, so that was a new challenge, and it was one we didn't think we could really overcome. Now we've seen several homes without dishwashers, and if the "perfect" house came up without one, I might be willing to compromise. However, that hasn't happened yet. I haven't walked into a front door and thought, "Yes. This is it. This is what I'm looking for." And I'm confident that's going to happen. It's happened in our two previous rentals (despite the fact that neither were in very much good shape when we first found and toured them), and at 26, I know that generally, I can trust my instincts. Which leads me to my final point...

5. Don't rush. If you begin your search early enough, it's okay to wait and to take your time. I know I'm never going to find the perfect rental. (That's the nature of renting, I'm afraid.) But that doesn't mean I need to rush into something or jump the gun on the first thing I see remotely fitting my checklist. I can weigh my options and make my pro-con lists because that's how my husband and I make decisions, and it's what works best for us. I'm all for spontaneous picnics and road trips to Thomasville, but spontaneously signing a lease just isn't for me. The fact is, we're not in a hurry, and there are parts of us that would be completely content staying in our townhome for a while longer. That's a luxury some people don't have, so we're willing to use it to our advantage. No more frenzied searches, no more obsessively checking Craigslist. If we have to wait a little while for a house we love, that's okay. We're content right where we are, and there are projects I could easily complete where we're currently renting.

"The grass is greener where you water it," and if that's true, our own little home could use a little watering over the next few weeks. The rest? Well, the rest will work itself out in time, as most things, I'm learning, generally do. 

31 days || nine: hosting a dinner party.

1. Make something easy for dinner. Save your Martha Stewart recipes for your supper club. Dinner parties are for tried and true meals that you know are simple to create with limited time and effort.

2. Keep your guest list low. I happen to think 8 to 10 is the perfect number. (I tend to invite 12 to 14 since people are busy, and cancellations happen regularly.)

3. Leave the insecurities behind. Your house doesn’t have to be perfect. Sure, it’s nice to have a clutter-free home, and maybe a big kitchen or dining room would be ideal. But don’t let the fact that your house is a little messy or a little small keep you from opening it up to friends and acquaintances. Hospitality goes beyond perfect decorations and open floor plans. It’s about giving others a place to relax and enjoy the company of those they love.

4. Light candles. I don’t like eating in the dark, but I also don’t like harsh overhead lighting that makes you feel like you’re chowing down in a school cafeteria. Candles are a nice solution, especially if you spread a few votives across the table. It’s a nice touch that people probably don’t use at home very often, setting apart the dinner as a kind of special occasion.

5. Take it outside. Small apartment? Try hosting a gathering outside instead of in. God’s creation is so beautiful, and most of us don’t enjoy it nearly enough. Eat on your patio or in your backyard, especially if you think things will be too tight inside.

6. Chill out. I used to think that people needed to do something to be happy: games, movies, some kind of over-the-top conversation starter. The truth is, though, we’re all busy. And mostly, people just like to sit and eat. Sure, I still think game nights are fun, but there’s something really special about people who love each other enough to just sit and talk, nothing extra needed.

7. Think outside your comfort zone. Even though it’s nice to get together with our closest friends, I think it’s important to think outside of the box and invite people who are new to town, who maybe don’t have family close by. Go outside your typical guest list and invite some people you don’t know as well. You might be surprised at what new friends you meet.

8. Tell people where to sit. Maybe this is a little Monica Geller of me, but if you’re going to think outside the box and invite newcomers, I think it’s wise to figure out in advance where people should sit. Don’t put all of the quiet people on one end of the table or all of the married couples together. Instead, match people up based on interests; make sure good conversationalists are seated near the middle to keep conversation flowing.

9. Accept others’ help. If a friend offers to bring dessert, let her. If a guest starts to take the dishes to the kitchen, let him. Part of being a good host is allowing others to be gracious. If they want to help, let them.

10. Don't wait for a reason. Hardly anyone throws a dinner party anymore, and I wonder if it’s because we’re all waiting for the perfect moment. There is no perfect moment. Everybody is busy (have I said that enough?), and food is expensive, and blogs and magazines make us think everything has to be styled perfectly. No it doesn’t. Sometimes, people just need an excuse to get together. Be the excuse.

- Proper table setting illustration by Mrs. Lilien.

house-hunting.

Since I was a little girl, I've been dreaming about the kind of house I'd live in one day. I used to come up with imaginary floor plans and designs for each room, feverishly tearing photos out of magazines and gluing them into collages.

Looking back, collage-ing may have been one of my favorite pastimes. I think it was my way of being an artist.

Today, I don't make collages, but I do still keep a collection of magazine articles and photos in a binder at home. I know everyone's into Pinterest right now (and, full disclosure, I have one too), but there's something about sitting in your living room floor, going through magazines, punching holes, and marking things with post-its that's a little therapeutic. And even though Jordan and I aren't yet in the market for a home (though if we were, this one's still up for grabs; remember how much I love it?), one day, when student loans are paid off and we're finally ready, I'll have a list of exactly what we're looking for.

Behold, a peak inside my inspiration binder (you know you want one):

{built-in bookcases, cottage living magazine, photo by roger davies}

 {farmhouse sink, cottage living magazine, design by jane leyens}

 {natural light, cottage living magazine, photo by tria giovan}

 {open shelving + wood floors, country living magazine, photo by ellen mcdermott}

 {farm table, country living magazine, design by jill borelli}

{yellow door + livable entry, blueprint magazine, photo by laura moss}

 {more natural light, do it yourself magazine, design by pamela porter}

 {white cabinets + kitchen bar, better home & gardens magazine, photo by reed davis}

 {space for outdoor entertaining, country living magazine, photo by lucas allen}

 {black + white floors, country living magazine, photo by laura moss}

the face.

 Hello, world. Here I am in all my glory.

If you've read this blog for any period of time, you probably understand that I've had a bit of trouble with my face.

Normal people struggle with acne while they're in the middle of their awkward teenage years. Then they grow up, go to college, get jobs, and their face looks like Kate Hudson's or that of a newborn baby.

I have never been normal.

This probably explains why acne hit me at the age of 19 and never let go.

Until now.

I've been holding off on sharing my new face regimen because, honestly? I thought it was a fluke. I've tried a lot of acne remedies over the years, and I figured this was one of those solutions that would clear my face up, but only temporarily. I didn't want to share something that didn't wind up working long term.

Now I'm seriously afraid to jinx myself, but it's been months, and my face feels and looks healthier than ever.

I refuse to bestow before and after pictures -- this is not a Proactiv commercial, and I am not a glutton for punishment -- but I am instead gifting you with my secret.

Because if this works for me, it could very well work for you.

And there is no sense keeping it to myself.

At night: 
- "Wash" my face with 3 parts Castor Oil and one part Extra Virgin Olive Oil. I realize this sounds disgusting. Because, really, should you be adding oil to an oily face? Um, yes. I put about a quarter-sized amount of this concoction in my hands and rub it all over my face for a good 20 seconds or so, then place a warm washcloth on my face and leave it there until the washcloth reaches room temperature. It's like a cheap spa treatment.

- "Tone" with a lemon slice. Um, this burns, especially if you have breakouts. But it works. Just rub the lemon slice (I think I cut my lemon into eighths) all over your face. There will be pieces of lemon on your face, and you will probably be embarrassed because you look a little bit like a loser. BUT YOU WON'T TOMORROW WHEN YOU WAKE UP AND YOUR FACE IS CLEAR.

- "Moisturize" with sesame oil. You could also use avocado oil, but my grocery store had sesame oil, so that's what I use. FYI, the stuff reeks. But you're not going to care because it works. Nickel-sized amount, rubbed all over.

- I do have a prescription that I use in the evenings before I go to bed.

In the morning: 
- I take shower, but don't wash my face. Instead, I just tone and moisturize as I did the night before. I follow with a separate topical prescription.

Every other night (Monday, Wednesday, Friday): 
- After washing my face with the oils, I put a little bit of sea salt into my palm and mix it with a little olive oil. Rub them together and gently (because it does scratch a bit!) massage on face. This exfoliates the skin. Then I follow with the rest of the regimen.

Remember, I've tried a lot of solutions over the years. Some worked okay, others not at all. This one rocks my socks off.

Also, the nerd in me kind of loves making the different concoctions. It's like a science experiment!

So, there you have it. Questions? Comments? Your own face regimens? Sound off below.

(Oh, and for more information about the oil cleansing method, try here and here.)

baby fever.

I'm sorry, did the title of this post deceive you? Let me clarify: I am not pregnant, but the rest of the world is. Or at least that's what it feels like.

Three baby showers in three weeks?

Yes, that's what my life is looking like right about now.

No worries, though, because there's nothing I love more than a good party.

Two weeks ago, I helped to host a gender neutral baby shower for my precious friend Jenn, and I pretty much love how everything turned out. Thank you, blogland, for making me look like a party planning genius.

And a breakdown of the photos, in case you're interested:

1. Jenn with the food table in our dining room. Fabric garland first spotted here.
2. Friends in town to celebrate the big occasion.
3. Hostesses. (I would never recommend hosting one of these alone: so much time, money, and effort goes into the planning. Grab a friend or two to help.)
4. Fabric garland, with tissue pouf garland courtesy of Martha and Michaels.
5. Onesie garland, first spotted here.
6. CD favors. I based my playlist off this one, but added in some Adele and Ray LaMontagne. You know, just because.

On a random note, the picture on our mantel is a canvas we purchased through an organization called 100cameras. It's the first real piece of "art" Jordan and I bought together, and I love it, what it means, and what the organization is doing for the children of this world. Check them out here.

i am an artist.

I remember it like it was yesterday.

My carefully crafted and hand-sculpted nativity scene rested precariously in the bottom of my backpack, somehow protected from the math and English books, the stray pencils and the uncorked markers. It was everything I had imagined it to be, and I could not wait for the moment when I would arrive at home, able to show my artistic mother what I had created for our home.

As I gently removed the characters from their nesting place, I laid them out in the palms of my mother's hand, already encouraged by her wide eyes and grinning mouth.

"Oh, honey! These are just beautiful! What precious little manatees!"

I stared at her quizzically. What on earth was she talking about? Manatees? It was true, I had an obsession with the animals. I was the only girl in the third grade to have a 14-karat gold manatee necklace and a Save the Manatees t-shirt. But these handmade characters? These were the holy family, not the cows of the sea. I informed my mother of such, and rather loudly.

"These are not manatees! It's Mary and baby Jesus!"

My kind, doting mother was mortified at her mistake. The balls of clay resting in her hands were not manatees at all, just pudgy versions of the virgin and her baby. She quickly covered her tracks, complimenting my handiwork over and over and over again. Seventeen years later, she still places my sculpted nativity scene out at Christmastime, despite the fact that I now know exactly what she meant: Mary resembles -- quite remarkably -- a large, voluptuous manatee.

Last week, when a friend organized a group to go to a local art studio for a painting class, I wasn't at all hesitant. Despite of -- or because of -- my earliest art debacles, I have come to terms with the fact that I am creative, not artistic. My stick figures come out crooked, and I cannot cut a straight line to save my life. But I am creative, and finally, at 25, that is enough for me.

My expectations for the class itself were low. I dutifully paid my class fee and donned my apron, content with experiencing fun with friends rather than counting on any wall-appropriate artwork. Then, as the music played and the instructing began and the drinks began to flow, I realized: This was fun. Art is fun.

And I am convinced it may actually be more therapeutic than yoga.

The entire class was just the right kind of challenging. I was forced to take it slow (each layer of paint had to dry before we could continue). No one was grading me, so if I messed up, I didn't have a panic attack. I just tried again. No one really cared about my painting at all; I was free to do as I pleased. My friends and I giggled until we cried and let the paint fumes get to our heads.

As I painted each coat, I realized that so much has changed. I will probably always be a little bit perfectionist, a little bit like crazy Monica Gellar, but I am getting better. I wasn't concerned with what everyone else was doing, or whether or not my painting matched up. I just felt the flow of the paintbrush against canvas, the therapy behind each petal drawn and color mixed. 

You know what? The result wasn't half bad. Do the colors match anything in my house? Not really. But one of my new year's resolutions was to bring color into my home, and I don't intend on letting the proof of a fun evening hide in a closet somewhere. My painting will hang above my desk, a reminder of enjoying the moment, letting things go, and relishing the artistic -- not just creative -- side that is in us all.

---

For you are a people holy to the Lord your God. The Lord your God has chosen you to be a people for his treasured possession, out of all the peoples who are on the face of the earth. It was not because you were more in number than any other people that the Lord set his love on you and chose you, for you were the fewest of all peoples, but it is because the Lord loves you...

- Deuteronomy 7:6-8a