how the nester helped me see

This weekend, I was able to spend some time at my sister’s house with some friends, including Stephanie from (in)courage. This would be an appropriate place to put a picture of us, but I only took one and it was super blurry. Besides, when you are at The Nester’s house, it’s hard to take photos of people.

the nester's house

I tend to take photos of stuff like this. Because, hello? How cute. While chatting with Stephanie, she asked me if I am ever intimidated by the fact that my sister is The Nester, and whether or not that makes it hard for me to measure up in my own house.

People actually ask me this question a lot, so I thought it might be helpful to answer it here. As you know, my sister hasn’t always been The Nester. But she has always, always nested. And she’s always been creative, brave and free when it comes to crafting house into home. When I got married nearly nine years ago, I thought those instincts might kick in with me as well. They did not. In fact, the exact opposite happened with me. I became a ball of insecurity, not necessarily in comparison with my sister, more because I lacked confidence in my own taste or ability. I didn’t have that same sense of freedom.

Where my sister would paint a wall, hate it, repaint it, hate it, repaint it, and change her mind, I would leave it white and worry. Afraid to try. Afraid to fail. Afraid. Over the years, she has helped me to know how to think about my house, to not let fear be a motivator, and to give myself permission to fail.

“Is your home a place to be or a place to be careful. If you can’t make a mistake at home then where can you try out something new? If you are determined to worry about something, worry about cancer or a meteorite hitting the earth or the end of the world. DO NOT worry about paint colors.”

~The Nester

You have to admit, she makes a great point. Because the truth is, there is an uncanny parallel between how we approach our home and how we approach our life. The heavy, hovering cloud of fear does not discriminate. If we let it, it will overwhelm all areas of our life, from cancer to curtains. So to answer Stephanie’s question: No, I am not intimidated by the fact that my sister is The Nester. If you have met her, you will I’m sure agree that she is simply not an intimidating person. But there have been times where I was envious of her freedom. I wondered why I couldn’t just let go and live in my home and feel free to make it rather than letting it undo me.

I sincerely hope this doesn’t sound too cheesy or dramatic but I’m going to say it anyway. I credit my sister for ushering me into a place of healing and freedom when it comes to expressing myself in my home. I now feel fairly confident in my own taste and style, and it isn’t because she told me what to like or because I copy her. It is because she has encouraged me to try, play, mess up, have fun and try again. I would do well to apply that same philosophy to the way I live my life.

will dance for rolls

Our family won’t be spending much money on gifts for each other this year. Instead, we are trying to be purposeful about spending time together. So this weekend, my parents and my sister’s family came to spend the weekend with us. One thing we wanted to do while we were together was to eat four sticks of butter.

butter

I kid. Kind of. Actually, we wanted to make Pioneer Woman’s cinnamon rolls because they are the most wonderful, festive, fantastically delicious tin full of fat you will ever eat. So my kitchen was filled up with flour, sugar, tag-playing-kids and Bing Crosby’s White Christmas.

cooking

There was a lot of butter and a little dancing. The recipe makes seven tins of rolls. Pioneer Woman talks about making these and delivering them to friends at the holidays. What a great idea, we thought, as we finished off the third tin. Granted, there were twelve of us. But still. That’s a lot of rolls.

PW's Rolls

I did deliver one tin to my sister-in-law and it was extremely satisfying to show up on her cold doorstep with warm, maple, coffee smelling rolls. I assume everyone has heard of these, but if you are one of the three who haven’t, here is the recipe. And we only ended up using three sticks of butter, so they’re that much closer to healthy.

Home is...
**I’m linking this post with Sandy’s Home is… party.

an unexpected sister party

When one of my favorite writers (Amber from The Run A Muck) announced she would be hosting A Sister Party at her place, I thought it was a fantastic idea. Basically, she encouraged us bloggy girls to host a get together in our homes for our real-life girls, our do-life-with sisters, our friends. I loved it. In fact, I loved it so much that I thought all about it in my head and totally forgot to do it. My good intentions got tangled up with dirty socks and forgotten on the laundry room floor.

bride and groom

But then I went to this wedding last weekend. I know, I keep on talking about it and I am sorry about that. But it was simply a really big deal that this girl loves this man and that he loves her right back. I got there on Wednesday and rushed around making appointments and dry cleaning dresses and loved on my college roommate when she got teary. The wedding day passed in a flurry of stressfully happy eventfulness, a mosaic blend of holy and crazy, just as weddings ought to be. And then, it was time for the party.

the girls

Just like that, my college best friend was married and busy celebrating with guests and new husband. I retreated to the back of the reception tent to watch from a distance and breathe. Within minutes, I was surrounded by girls from college who I haven’t seen in years. And I couldn’t hug them tight enough. Nor could I stop the tidal wave of girly emotion from rising up and spilling out all over them.

As I stood there in my mess of giggles and tears, Amber’s Sister Party came to mind. I spent the rest of the evening lauging, dancing and catching up with my college sisters. The girls who knew me when. The girls in front of whom it is impossible to be embarassed because they loved me then and love me still. I reveled in the fact that, even though I forgot to plan my own sister party, I was still able to celebrate the bonds that run deep between girls. And I was thankful.

Blog Widget by LinkWithin