I DID NOT GET MY MOTHER'S GENES

Or her jeans. And I'd love to have a couple of her 70s pairs.

My mom makes homes pretty. Organized and pretty. She knows things about fabrics that sound like pig latin to me. When she met BF her first reaction to "Indian" was "I have to ask him about the silk in India." What?!

My mother ... where to start ... she lives in a cute, cozy home that's two sizes too small but still manages to feel like home and smell like Christmas. She currently works at a store that if I named you'd all be jealous about (lets just say ... 40% off is a real bonus. And mom, I have my eye on a couple pieces for XMas.) She's always saying things like "you know, I understand the house wife ... it's a full time job to pick out curtains and keep a home up." To this I roll my eyes and down a glass of wine ... "sure mom, whatever you say to make yourself not want to punch out your customers."

Except ... except ... shit. I think she's right. I have made the decision to MOVE ... little known fact about moving - it follows "death of a spouse" and the #2 stressful thing to go through. With the word move comes the word DECORATE. "But I don't have time for all this, I have a job." And there it is - my mom's words.

But I'm not a housewife with kids and an excuse to quit my job (plus, let me reiterate, I love my job.) So I must decorate and declutter and budget for these expenses on the lunch break.

Here are the current photos on the google doc I have going labled "WISHES FOR APARTMENT." Note the word "wishes." We shall see what really unfolds ...