Remember that time when my squishy baby legs grew so fast that my junior-size jeans couldn’t even skim the white leather of my Reebok high-tops? Crop pants weren’t just an option but a unintentional fashion statement.
It wasn’t a pretty time (no matter how many times my Daddy told me so). Awkward is mild in describing my transition from little lass to tween–orangutan arms of epic proportions and the kind of toothy, gummy, uninhibited smile that pays for an orthodontist’s mortgage and maybe his pool.
Bonus awkward points: playing with toes
But if you are an awkward tween survivor, you can attest that change brings beauty and strength on the other side.
A couple weeks ago I did an Instagram tour of our home based on fellow Instagrammers requests–photos of in-progress rooms. What I thought would be a simple snap of photos around the house actually turned out to be a huge design lesson to me–one key point being, I am in a state of awkward change akin to a young child changing into an awkward adolescent en route to become a lovely and mature young adult. Maybe your house is in an awkward stage, too?
The cute calm before the awkward storm.
My house right now is preteen Angela–leaving a sweet ranch house behind and growing into a new image of herself. Just like preteen Angela, my house has potential and really good intentions. But much like my teeth–not everything is in the right place yet. And much like my cropped pants that weren’t supposed to be cropped pants, my house just isn’t quite dressed right. But this encourages me rather than discourages me. I like to think I pulled through Aqua Net bangs and mom jeans (though there were sure to be other blunders down the road), and my house, too, will eventually make the transition to a lovely, mature-ish adult.
Unintentional cropped pants and bangs…bonus: our 80s living room. And, shoulder pads.
The snapshots of the house helped me see the rooms in a different way than when I’m physically occupying the space. I could see where I am hitting my goals and where I am veering off course. The photos I shared (and didn’t share) helped me to clarify my purpose and direction in this house from the last house.
The adorable shoebox rancher was deceptively roomy but much smaller in scale than our current house. Smaller furnishings and accessories tucked in nicely at the rancher. It’s traditional 1950s spirit called for an eclectic mashup of chinoiserie and mid-century modern–at least that was my prescription for the house. Anyway, those things don’t always translate from house to house–where ceilings reach 2 feet higher and rooms stretch longer in width and length.
Plus, there is the natural evolution of my personal style and curiosity. While buying all new furniture isn’t in the budget, we are buying key pieces but making existing furniture work where we can, doing our best to support the vision for the house. But the interim can be awkward–as I’m finding my way in a look I’m still defining and discovering for myself. I’m learning how to combine the beloved vestiges of our past with new vistas–and my first tries aren’t always right.
But now I know I’m just in my awkward stage, and this too will pass–please help me to remember it when sometimes things can’t happen quick enough. But each little change and tweak gives me encouragement that I am closer to my goal. And, I’m totally going to take more photos of the spaces I’m working on for my own deliberating purposes–and I’m trying to trust my instincts and question my tendencies more and know how to distinguish between the two.
Never awkward: being true to yourself and personality
The best part of this awkward stage? Having photos to laugh at later. Yep, it’s a good reminder to be generous with the camera clicks with my children in their tween years. They’ll thank me someday.
There is a bedside table plan, I just need to execute it. In the meantime, this awkward arrangement.