Our little house has been our home for almost SIX months now, and our hearts are definitely here within these walls.
We've hosted birthday parties, dinner parties, slumber parties, basically, all.the.parties. since then.
The space and the freedom and the ownership, (let's pretend that whole mortgage thing isn't looming over our heads for the next 3 million months), and the natural light, and the sneaky feline that suspiciously lives in our basement and has a walk of shame across our driveway every morning while we eat breakfast...
It's been real good.
That simply uncomplicated kind of contentment right there is what it's all about.
And what I have to remind myself on a, gulp, sometimes daily basis.
The decor. The vignettes. The not-too-literal and slightly-obscure collection of coffee table books artfully arranged just so.
Fun stuff, but not Real stuff.
The story of my friend's toddler who wrote a love note to her parents in the form of Sharpie on Brand New Designer Couch kind of puts things back into perspective.
At least, that's what I tell myself as I'm drooling through an issue of Cottage Style.