For years, I assumed every surface in our home was my personal playground--a place to display my unique style. I would fiddle and fret and change up each surface until I had it just right.
The dining room table had a grouping of pretty things.
The hearth was filled with baskets that were filled with pillows.
The coffee table was covered within an inch of its life with a curated collection of stacked books, a plant, cute seasonal tchotckes and a few favorite candles.
And don't even get me started on the walls.
My house had absolutely ZERO breathing room and to do anything from starting a puzzle, folding laundry, working on homework or setting the table for dinner required first moving pretty things out of the way (to where? every other surface was full too) to create some space on a surface so we could use it.
