Who is Normal?

I went to a conference last September; the absolute best kind (for me) filled with creative, like-minded women who encouraged and commiserated as needed. While we all had a common passion, we all had entirely different lives that had led us to this point. I used to feel that my normal was caring for a young child and creating a happy and safe family, but, as I have gotten older, my life has changed and my expectations have now expanded. My normal, now, also includes a business and a constant curiosity about where I am going next and how I can get there. Sometimes I spend my time trying to mush them all together, hoping for some type of cohesion, my own quietly, composed muddle.

Like most people, in the wee small hours I am afraid of what "could" happen. I counter this, on a good day,  with thinking positive, moving ahead and stay involved in the lives of friends and family. On a bad day, I may just sit and feel sad or, be distracted, wandering around as I wait for bedtime, knowing I can crawl into bed and wish it all away until the morning. Everything is better after a good nights sleep. Over time I have learned to follow my instincts and nurture what I need to make me a happier person, day by day.

As I talked to the people at the conference, I was struck by how different our stories were. No-one gets a free pass; regardless of what they do, or try to do, we all have struggles and ways that we learn to cope with our daily challenges. Every person that I spoke to had a wonderful part inside of them that spoke of their personal success, a light that outlined a piece of who they really were, but wasn't always in full view of the  person holding it.

We all have lights that speak of who we are, but sometimes it's difficult to acknowledge the success. To say we are normal, is easy and dismissive, often self-deprecating, a quality that can be praised in the current world of egos and reality divas. But who we are inside, what is normal for us, should be celebrated.We are always more than we think, it just sometimes takes another person to help us realize that. Listen to others, believe what they say and tell them what you see in them. Find the light inside yourself and don't let it go out.

The Power of Plastic...

When I first moved into my home, 20 years ago, the outlets and light switches were brown, plastic, faux wood. My walls were white. I kept them both, because that’s what you did. They came with the house, and, honestly, I thought I would electrocute myself if I removed them, so I didn’t. I didn’t like them, but I just accepted them as part of the decoration.

Now, years later, they have been painted or replaced with something that either matches or coordinates with the room that they are in. It was so easy that I couldn’t believe I ignored these important, little pieces of plastic for so long.

Sometimes we want them to be a feature, but often, most of us just want them to disappear, invisible pieces of necessity, erratically scattered all over our home.

Make it simple - if your room is white or cream, match that color. If you have a colorful room, consider steel, black or wood for a subtle contrast. These basic styles can be easily (and cheaply) picked up at your local hardware store. Of course, there are many decorative ones you can buy online, but be wary of creating too much of a “theme”. In your children’s bathroom a fish may look cute, palm trees in your master bedroom, maybe not so cute?

I often paint mine. Use the wall paint that you have, priming and/or sanding as needed. Just dab gently with the paint as you don’t want it going into the outlet (of course, removing the plate first would be the most sensible option, but I have done it both ways, depending on how impatient I am feeling). If you want to, add a matte polyurethane over it for durability.

For less than a dollar let children personalize their room with their own design. As long as you can still move the switch, let them glue, paint or stick anything they want to onto the plate for a fun and useful accessory. Be creative.

A beautiful home is composed of many things, please don’t let this utilitarian piece of plastic become an unwelcome detail…

I Love You, But Can I Please Eat The Sofa?

He is 47 pounds of love and insanity. After many cats, and a couple of hamsters, we decided to adopt a dog. Totally won over by his happy, affectionate personality we brought him home, naively thinking he would fit right in, and life would continue on it's merry little way. Um, no, not exactly. The first time I left him alone I came home to a living room that was almost unrecognizable. His sweet personality totally belied the damage he was capable of; a chair was destroyed and moved (!) across the room, every coat and handbag on the back of the door was shredded beyond repair, all the curtains were torn down, and several pot plants were smashed on the floor....

It wasn't what we expected. He gets upset when we leave. Months later, he is better; the damage is minimal, and on a good day he will just "relocate" a few items when we are out. Fortunately for him, my house is not a palace, and I really do believe that the good far outweighs the bad. So, as odd as it seems, I thought I would write about him this week.

Growing up, I had dogs and cats (and a goat) that were kept mainly outside. They came in at night (not the goat) to sleep, so their impact on our home was far less than their impact on our lives. Living in New Jersey, the climate is different, and pets spend a lot more time inside, which means that we have to be prepared to share our house with our animals.

As someone who got their dog on impulse, I have absolutely no authority on the subject, but I do know that I did run a few thoughts through my head before I brought him home. I knew that I would have the time to care for him most of the day, and that he wouldn't be left alone for long periods of time. I knew that we had a fenced in area (so that my inherent laziness could thrive if needed) and I knew that I really wanted my daughter to grow up with a dog.

What I knew, did not prepare me for the reality. Standing outside in the rain, with an umbrella, in my pajamas, pleading with my dog to pee against the tree. I admit, I even tried to demonstrate it for him, just in case he didn't get the memo in doggy boot-camp. Muddy paws, tearing through the house, scratching the floor and skidding to a stop. Tail wagging. Wet-dog-smell was nothing compared to broken lamps and random bites out of my sofa. I started to wonder if he would hurt himself, confining him only seemed to make it worse.

I always had to think before I left the house; doors were locked and plastic bags were hidden, it was all about damage control with a heavy dose of denial thrown in. Returning home every day to a happy, affectionate dog that seemed disconnected from the mess around him. It became about creativity, how could I ease his fears while keeping my home from looking like "America's Least Wanted".

What the heck was I doing? Were my things more important than the dog who was destroying them? No, not really. Yes, we had to try and control the chaos (isn't that the name of a book?) but I could not give him up when the rest of him was so good.

My home has always been important to me, and although I found it very jarring to see papers strewn around and coats torn from their hangers, I found, over time, that my definition of home adjusted. A home is defined by the family that lives in it, and I was eternally hopeful that we would be alright. I stubbornly tried to understand him while I repaired what I could.

It has been six months now, and we leave him alone quite often. Assuring him that we will always come back, I think he is finally starting to believe us. We take him in the car whenever possible, and on a nice day will leave him outside to play. He has a special basket of toys and treats that I give him when I leave the house, "hiding" things in it for him to find. His anxiety (and mine) has lessened, any damage now is minimal at best.

We love him, and he adores us, but we also know that bringing a pet into your life is far more than just opening the door....

Cupboards, Dressers and Drawers.......

Where do you put your clothes? When I lived in England, many of us had wardrobes instead of closets. Tall, free-standing, ominous-looking structures, that threatened to fall on us when we were asleep; their height seemed disproportionate to their width, leaning slightly towards the middle of the room. Now that I am older, I love these gigantic pieces of history, their Narnia-like depth filled with old fur coats and boxes of secrets.

Here, where I live now, I have a small closet. A built in cupboard that is tiny; barely two feet wide, it does the job, but in a far less romantic way. I also have a chest of drawers for all things that lay flat. I found it at a flea market years ago, and I like that it is has an old label on the back from a furniture shop decades ago.

If I was in a really large house, I think I would love gigantic closets with lots and lots of shelves. A shoe and boot rack to keep things standing up, and small boxes with fancy labels that told me what was inside. Large, decadent coat hooks for scarves and necklaces and padded, black hangers for fancy dresses. A drawer for jeans, and one for cardigans - lots of each, folded perfectly, (magically) always in the right size...........

I think, that where we store our clothes is a personal thing, but maybe we should talk about it now and again.