One thing about me is that I’ll never be an adult.

I mean yes I’m 37 and like 10000 kids call me mom, but if there’s one thing about me…I’ll never grow up.

When I was a kid and people would ask me what my favorite color was, I would always hesitate and answer like 5. Pink…mint green…lavender…hot pink…mustard I couldn’t leave any of them out for fear of hurting their feelings (and yes I know colors don’t have feelings).

But I can say with 100% certainty that my favorite colors were never gray. Or beige.

This is in no way trying to insult people who love those colors and feel alive in neutrals.

I’m not those people. Neutrals make me feel like I’m trying to be like everyone else, but just not as good.

Let’s face it a small house with 6 kids and lots of dirty hands, my version of clean will never meet Instagram worthy standards. It’s just not feasable.

Color covers dirt. Color covers grime. Color brings me joy and since my husband has given me full creative control to create I have gone full Palm Springs “Trixie Motel” with minimal complaints from him and for that I’m so thankful.

While I do find myself swooning over picture perfect trendy houses, I can’t help but fall in love with the spaces where people have curated and made their own. There’s nothing more that I love than figuring out a way to make something vintage, something handmade, something kitch, and something from Target work together hand in hand.

I also like to have a rule in my house that everything needs to be either heirloom quality or cheap and I can’t live my life freaking out about something being broken.

Except for my disco balls. They create such a VIBE, but no worries Amazon to the rescue if they meet their fate.