Let me start by telling you that I have something wonderful that not all wives get to enjoy. And I love it! I have a husband who not only cares about all things aesthetic, but has his own preferences as well. DT loves shopping just as much as I do, and his personal style is one of many reasons I fell so hard for him in our early years. What can I say? I love a man who can make himself look so darn good without any help! Be still my heart, I love my husband in skinny jeans.
Now, this stylistic opinion does not end with wardrobe. Our someday house has always been a frequent topic of conversation between DT and I. When we were dating, we would dream together about the nooks and crannies of our dream home and the wonderful things with which we would fill it. When the gooey haze cleared for long enough for us to see anything beyond ourselves, (we had it baaaaad, people) we would do things like peruse the home section of Anthropologie on State Street, and then walk over to the Crate and Barrel on Michigan Avenue to sit on our perfect couch. (In case you are wondering, it was called the Lounge Sofa, and so help me, it had better be in production when I can eventually afford it! Because it. is. so. comfortable.) Anyways, the main idea here is that we agreed on everything. Or so I thought....
When we had been married for a few months and the gooey haze was replaced with a more socially acceptable air of mutual appreciation, we spent a lazy Sunday afternoon window shopping on North Avenue. What began as a normal day of mental wish list making turned into a disturbing day for me when we walked into a store called CB2. After about five minutes of my husband exclaiming in sheer delight, "Oh my gosh, look at the lines! Everything is so clean! Ash, isn't this the perfect desk?" My (mercifully) mental answers were, "Um, where are the arms on that couch? Why is there so much lucite? Who needs a highlighter orange desk chair???" Suddenly, I knew I had a problem. This man, who I had always understood to share my affinity for all things farmhouse, shabby, eclectic, worn, and warm, apparently loved...MOD. Mod?!?!? I was dizzy from all the white light and I wanted out!
This ensued months and months of (probably hormonally-induced) outbursts that went something like this. "Who are you? I thought you shared my style? Mod? Seriously? What about my dream house? Waaaaahhhhhhhhh...." Yeah. Yikes. Thankfully, I have grown up a little, and have begun to see the task of merging our respective tastes into a fun, comfortable home as an exciting challenge. Sure, at times I still snap "That can go in your man office" when DT points out a sleek chair or a minimalist art piece. But for the most part, I now look for ways to blend the mod with the farmhouse. It has also caused me to think about what a home really should be, and what my focus ought to be as we establish our dwelling place and make it into what, I pray, will be a blessing to others as well.
