I wanna share about these strawberry flats today.
They are not what you think they are. Let me 'splain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up:
a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away,
I set out to tame the beast that is the laundry room.
(Why do I keep showing this picture? What is wrong with me?)
It was a catch-all for crap. It was always the dirty eyesore of the house. The cesspool of shoes 'n stinky undies 'n tools and whatever else didn't have a home.
And so we did things to it.
Good things, like put in an extremely practical, but particularly not height of style, tile floor. Function first. We're rebels.
And I'm happy to say, that even when the floor is mucked up, you can't really tell. And if you can, you are looking
waaaaay too hard so stop it right now for goodness sakes what is wrong with you.
And the work went on, like hanging cheap cabs.
I still love my No Smoking sign. Because everyone needs a reminder.
And I poorly installed some left over glass tile. 'N I pronounced it my final tile project, because it was tile project #175, and that's enough for anyone.
Or everyone.
And you know what? I always wanted a neat little row of galoshes. And I loved the idea of having a bench, like so.
'Mmm hmm. I even had bench plans all picked out from Ana White, and my galoshes dweam could come true.
And then I came to my senses.
This is a small space. I would love the bench I built for 10 seconds, and then it would make me feel claustrophobic. Chaotic.
And so I chose cleanliness and function. Again.
(Borrrrrr-ing.)
Shoes hang on the back of the door, and they're out of sight, out of mind. Lucky us, but there's a row for each person, and it goes down by age. Clearly Jeff and I don't really keep shoes down here.
And then I also used my brain and realized that my kids should put away their own dang laundry!
Changed my life, this has. 'N it's not just because I don't have to put away 6 people's laundry anymore--
I also love that clean clothes can be found on the main floor in a hurry. If needed. It's kind of awesome.
And then I can just throw these baskets up top here and make them go away when they're empty!
And my washer and dryer are clean again.
So I was feeling pretty fat and sassy about the functionality of this laundry room/mud room area.
But.
I realized that I spend
a lot of time in here.
Too much time in here. And therefore, I should do something fun in here.
I mean, I really like this wall 'n all. . .
And I love how the carbon monoxide detector compliments the un-moulded window just
so. . .
but I wanted this as an accent wall. And I've been thinking for months. Pondering-- letting it percolate in the noggin. . .
My sister suggested this striped, one color accent awesomeness:
And I love the idea-- I was this close to busting out the painter's tape--
but I wanted something that would wow me. So I thought 'n thought 'n thought some more.
Stripes? Beadboard? Planked wall!?
Getting warmer, but still. . . no.
And then it hit me. Probably when I was about to drift off to sleep, or when I was in the shower, probably.
I want. . .
you know, if I were cool, then I'd play this cool, and I'd show you this
ALL done and be like,
"LOOK WHAT I DID IN HERE HELLO!"
But we all know I am not cool. We are
sooo past that.
And plus I get excited and I want to tell people stuff.
So anyways, I wanted,
an accent brick wall.
A good
bloggy friend uncovered one in her kitchen re-no,
and I felt nothing but cold, hard, jealousy.
I do not know what is wrong with me today, but I have word vomit. How long can Mandi talk today? A heckuvalot, apparently. You'd think I haven't seen a lot of adults lately or something.
Let me be as brief as possible:
I couldn't get over the brick idea. And I looked into it, a
lot. Fake brick, those sheets of "brick" from Lowe's, thin brick, full brick. . .
I knew thin brick was the look I wanted-- but let's put it this way: I am so seriously pissed about the price of thin brick that I refuse to even give any company an ounce of advertising with a link because hello?? Over $8 per square foot for thin brick? When the cost is more than real brick? What are we playing at?
And so I've been disappointed. Downhearted.
Fast forward to last week.
The bro and I were working on a project at his house, and I was snooping around his garage because that's what I do. It's all I know.
These ain't strawberries.
But they are sooo much better than strawberries.
And my totally awesome bro and sister in law let me have 'em.
I don't know why, but they did.
I kind of cried a little bit. It was a little awkward.