Come on a my house

If I were writing a Facebook status I would choose the annoyed emoticon. Then, I would post a picture of dinner and a candid shot of my kids. After an hour I would check back and question why more people haven’t “liked” my status. What the hell! That’s a cute picture.

I am annoyed with myself for caring what someone thinks about my house. I don’t live in a shack, but it’s not a mansion. There are scratches, dents and dings on the walls, evidence that three children live here. We have picnics and tea parties on the carpet. Matchbox cars and toy trains race on the hardwood floors. I don’t own expensive artwork. The framed paintings hanging on our walls were created by my kids.


I suppose if you consider the co-pay for labor and delivery it was expensive. Their creations have more meaning to me than a reproduced photograph from



There’s a good chance you will step on a Lego or find Barbie in the couch cushion. Well, when she isn’t whoring herself out to Ken. Our entryway floor dates back to the 1980’s. Man, they loved light blue in the 80’s! Hearts and paneling were also hot. At one point our house had all of the above. It even had carpet on the bathtub. I am not kidding. Some David Hasselhoff wannabe impressed the ladies with plush pink carpet up the side on the tub. We made a few renovations, but used the money to replace the entryway floor on a trip to Walt Disney World. I would rather create memories than have a house that looks like the Pottery Barn catalog. (Although I do love Pottery Barn and, much like Barbie,I would whore myself out for free stuff.)   I don’t think I have ever walked into someone’s house and judged their decor. I am too busy judging your clothing. (I’m kidding, I’m kidding)

My kitchen counter is outdated, but the photograph of my husband and I standing beside the President of the United States at the White House Christmas party, yeah, that’s pretty modern. (Two snaps in z formation) Seriously, I am 34-years-old (or something like that) and don’t want friends that I have to impress.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.