You guessed it – it’s another pumpkin recipe. This one is extra-special because it is NOT paleo—all you non-paleo people should be grateful. I had a get together with friends who aren’t on the caveman-bandwagon so I made these to share with them. Of course I had to try
one, er four to make sure they were servable. And they were.
Delish. Divine. Delightful. Delectable.
That’s all the “d” words I can come up with for tasty. But believe me, these are mouth-watering and there will definitely be a paleo-ified version coming from me at some point! Plus they look fancy for any of those holiday parties you need to bring something for. And they are not putzy. While I don’t mind putzy, I generally don’t have time for it…And I’m not very good at it
Along the theme of not being detailed and putzy, we are talking redecorating today. And no, I’m not using that to describe something else. We really are going to talk about redecorating. It honestly seems quite timely with the holidays and entertaining that is right around the corner. Don’t you think?!
Odd subject I know, but bear with me. I might get some flak for this and some of you might think I’m stupid (or at least stupider). But in the interest of keeping it real, being honest and sharing too much; I’m going for it anyways.
I am really horrible at decorating. I love design; love pouring through magazines, walking the stores & perusing Pinterest like it’s going out of style. But actually putting it together in my own home is a nightmare.
We’ve lived in our house over ten years and we have redone every single room at least twice (quite a few more than that). Not because I’m bored, but because it never turns out like I want it to. Like the pictures do.
Like Martha Stewart, Pottery Barn, Cottage House, or Pinterest even for god’s sakes.
Some of the redoing is our own fault, because we had never intended on being here long-term. Things were done half-ass, just enough, or on the cheap (= not what we wanted). As the years have progressed and we have stayed put I’ve had the urge to make it what I want.
Part of that is just the idea of “my” home. That cozy space. Welcome, comforting lived in place. Our own nest.
Here’s the other part: insecurity, comparison, that need to be like everyone else and even a little envy thrown in.
I (along with my husband) never cared too much about our house. We’ve updated it, but never spent gobs of money – never wanted to. We are the spend-it on experiences, adventures, memories type. And when we do choose to spend it on things, he prefers hunting & fishing entrapments and I go for clothes, earrings, boot socks/leg warmers and shoes. Shoes. Shoes. Shoes.
So this desire to spend actual money on our house (that cropped up in the last year) is foreign. And scary, because I have a huge aversion to being that person. That person that cares too much about her house, her things, her status symbols. That person whose identity is wrapped up in all of that.
But recently there are these real & even bigger fears that I will be pigeonholed by my house. What’s in it. What’s not. Where it is. How big it is. My style. How it’s decorated. The accessories I use. My furniture. The paint colors, for crying out loud.
Our culture tells us that our image– who we are, is defined by what we have. I buy into that just like everyone else.
My mom was that way. She still is. I hated it. Still do.
Everything in my house growing up was always “perfect.” Un-touchable, un-sittable, un-homey. It was status, flashy, fake, and display. There was never a feeling of love, warmth or lived-in. There was no life. No heartbeat.
My style has always ran opposite. I live in a small house (in a mixed area). We have messes, and toys and food crumbs and spills. Nothing is perfect, nothing is gorgeous. There is no status or displays.
To which she constantly criticizes me for. And while it grates on my nerves, I have never overly cared much. Because things aren’t important to me. That was one of the most important lessons I learned from her (contrary-fanatic that I am).
Enter the school age years of my children. Who go to a great school in a more affluent area.
And the comparisons, insecurities, and conditioning from my childhood rear their ugly heads.
And yes, my desire to have my house the way I want it, is in large part simply because I’m at that point in life where I want my space carved out and defined.
But keeping a balance between my values and the fear of rejection is hard.
So back to decorating; as I have spent loads of time recently trying my hand at a Pinterest-perfect-home. I have a deep-seated fear that if I don’t get it right I will be less-than, rejected, not worthy.
Or that even if I do get it right, it still won’t be perfect because my house is small and not in the “right” area.
Logically, I know this is stupid. But my cat’s
meow screech overrides any amount of logic.
In the midst of my redecorating chaos (we are redoing our entire upper level with plans to tackle the basement next, all while in the middle of restructuring our backyard) I have to take deep breaths. To remind myself that the money I spend, the time I invest, the idea of “getting it just right,” needs to come from my vision.
Not my fears, not my conditioning, not my comparisons and judgments. Not from my invented beliefs of what others might think. Not from projections or preconceived notions.
I need to remember that I am not restricted or classified by my house. More than that, that in essence, what I want my home to be is that vein, that life force of my family. The ambiance from the people inside, the warmth & comfort my children feel, how I treat people when they enter, how they feel when they leave – this is what’s important.
It’s okay to establish my space, to have it the way I want. To fabricate an extension of myself. But the most important piece, the vital piece is that those who live here, those that visit, experience my heart more than my home.
This is my vision. This is my style. This is my home’s heartbeat.
Mini-Pumpkin Pie Cupcakes
***Go to Baking Bites to get the recipe.