A few months back The Husband and I thought it might be a good time to beautify our home. We started with what has since been dubbed “The Love Wall.”
The main hallway in our home, before decor, could best be described as shoebox-esque. No windows. Four doors which remain closed for the most part and one open doorway leading in from a dimly lit corner of the living room. Let’s just say it was D-A-R-K, dark. Fast forward past a week or so of planning, a solid two days of picture hanging, numerous shopping trips to find the perfect rug, a full day and several nails lost to installing crystal door knobs and a frustrating morning of light fixture installing and she’s almost done.
Finding and sticking with a new paint color is proving to be more difficult than I ever anticipated. It’s been three years. Three. I’m awaiting that glorious moment when the clouds part, the ceiling opens overhead and The Big Man hands me a swatch of the perfect shade of pale greige with pinkish undertones. Away to the hardware store I’ll run, but not before doubting the placement of every photo, the shade of IKEA white light fixture and the texture of my currently beloved rug. But for now I can live with the yellowed white walls and the temporary (torn, soon to be repaired) thrifted oil painting oddly set in the corner. Afterall, what’s a home with nothing left to work on?