There's a quote that I see frequently on Pinterest that appeals to my sense of humor and snark, while leaving the feeling my dirty undies are on display.
"If you marry a creative person, know that some days you'll come home to a spotless house … and some days dinner will be forgotten, the kids will be in PJs and it will look like you were robbed. Find a way to appreciate both because the second will happen much more often than the first."
I thought of this quote this morning as I tripped over my three pairs of shoes, headed past the seasonal mounds of dog hair and entered the bathroom — whereupon I admired the collection of empty toilet-paper rolls stacked neatly on the over-toilet shelf.
The rolls are stacked there because I save them. The rolls are stacked there because my husband, having seen me stack them there, also stacks the rolls there, with the full confidence that my saving the rolls has meaning; that these rolls have a purpose.
And they mostly do … conceptually speaking. It's the same with the bottle caps and wine corks.
To the layman's eye, these collections could be considered the efforts of a very organized hoarder. And that layman might occasionally have a point. After all, who needs 200 bread tabs, albeit tucked into a creatively labelled Ziploc baggie? What good can possibly come from saving so many egg cartons (ordered by size in their corner of the paper items shelf)?
To the crafter's eye, however, I have a deep collection of gems that represent an infinite number of golden possibilities just waiting to become treasures. One may see torn and discarded pair of jeans. We crafters see a possible tote bag.
Another sees a salvaged, empty tequila bottle. We crafters see a new mercury-painted vase.
And those toilet-paper rolls? They just might become the frame for a hanging mirror, or be used in gift wrapping or crafted into a jewelry organizer. I just haven't decided yet.
Which brings me back to the quote.
Some days, my world is a transitional mess: the dining room table is covered in coupons and a sewing project; the kitchen is dusted in flour and the house smells like hot vinegar. And I can be found in the yard, spray painting some old frames.
But wait for it. Because then comes the other days, the days where my world has been touched with laser-like intensity. The house has been scrubbed, the laundry is done and my kids' lunches are Bento. My husband comes home to a hot dinner on the table, two filled wine glasses and I look gooood — all this before I show off the new shelving unit made of recycled newspaper.
If only I could find a use for the dog hair.