My sewing room is under major construction, necessitating almost the entire room be stored all over the upstairs.  There is a gigantic orange cord, linking the air compressor now on my bedroom floor, into the workshop that was once a tranquil space for creating.  There are sewing supplies and what-nots EVERYWHERE.  Hopefully the pain will result in a transformation that will move it from “Oh My God, what was she thinking with that wallpaper”, TO, “Oh look!  It’s a Nantucket B&B.  How quaint.”  Our guests can stop complaining that the flowers on the walls are screaming at them while they sleep.  People are so very opinionated about bright flowery yellow Grandma wallpaper.  I.just.had.no.idea.

I am finding, as with all home remodeling projects, the unreal mess has undone my desire to clean anything.  What’s the point?  Don’t you know there is CHAOS upstairs?  Kelly and I slaved away for most of the evening, and after all the picking up, I realized…this tiny space was it.  THIS might be the cleanest and happiest spot on my top floor.  If I just stared at this beautiful little bedside table between the girls bed, and never turned around, I wouldn’t know that madness lie just behind my feet.

I’m a remodeling wimp.  I have big ideas, shoestring budgets, and absolutely no stamina.  I like remodeling as a concept, not as a reality.  And if Menard’s doesn’t produce my remaining bead boards by the AM, I’m breaking their front door with my chair-railing scraps.  So tell me friends, when it comes to remodeling, are you a champion, a raging bull, or a tearful drunk?  You may choose all 3, should you so desire.