I learned at a very young age not to be honest. To say what people wanted to hear. To not look them in the eye. Because it was safer – they couldn’t see too much.

I have lived most of my life feeling like an imposter. I don’t process things like other people seem to, but I do my best to fake it. I have no idea if I am succesful. I fake being an adult, being a wife is weird, I am sure I have screwed up the motherhood thing completely. But I try.

All this to say, the last 6 months have been extremely surreal. Regular readers may notice the last several posts have not been like older ones, because I am out of my element. Who am I to spend an obscene amount of money recreating a house. Telling people it is ok to tear down walls. Sending off ridiculous amounts of money every two weeks. Making decisions big and small and hoping for the best. Talking to strangers and hoping I am making sense. Making them feel comfortable when I am not.

We are currently 19 days from moving back in. In my head, there are moments I see so clearly. Standing behind the sink watching everyone. Making a cocktail. Serving food. Setting a table. Those are things I am pretty good at, that are real.

Laying down the rug. Building island stools. Hunkering down on a stormy day. Making bread. Cooking low and slow. Having art framed that I bought in Paris and cried while I did it. Thanksgiving. My friends in that space. The people I love and can be around and not speak and say everything.

So. The things I chose for the house I did not fake. They are me and us and everything we are. I cannot wait to share it with you.