About a month ago, I tossed a vinyl picnic table cloth over our dining room table at meal time, trying to mimic the feel of our traditional "upstairs pizza parties" which we weren't able to do that night. Here we are, one month later and that ill-fitting table cloth is still on the table.
The weird part is, I like it.
When we bought our table at an antiques show, we had an 8-week-old baby girl in our first (and hopefully last) house ever, and I said to my husband: I am not going to baby this table. I want to use it, to add to the wear it already bears, and to enjoy it. The house and table have endured 85 years already--they will outlast us.
Fast-forward 5 1/2 years. Vinyl table cloth covers lovely round oak table with ruined finish. I am sadly liking the fact that I'm not cringing every time I scrub down the table and take yet more finish off it, feeling the now-sticky non-waterproof finish coming up because we didn't know we were supposed to be waxing the thing every month, not once a year.
But I digress. What I'm really getting at here is, what am I going to cover next? I fear for the lampshades. My couch. The pillows. I have 3 little kids and I am almost ready to begin furnishing my house like it's a McDonald's play land.
I look to my left as I type this and see a patchwork of black permanent marker on my red IKEA couch in the upstairs play area. When did this happen? I think I've just found my next target.