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So, I’ve gained some weight.I just discovered my love of craft beer — a sure-fire recipe for a woman in her forties to pack on the el-bees. When I was younger, it was easy to just “watch what I ate” to get back to my fighting weight. My metabolism was my friend! But that friend has become tired and slow. My 30-minute runs have become 20; weight- lifting consists of lifting the remote to point it at the TV while drinking a frosted glass of Steel Toe’s Size 7. My workouts need to be remodeled, so to speak.

So I decided to do something about it. I’m getting up super early (like 5 am early) to meet another friend of mine at this gym filled with other crazy people trying to be “FIT”. Now remember, we aren’t trying to lose weight (uh, duh, yes I am)–we are trying to be healthy. Well, let me tell you something, if I was 5’9” and 115 lbs., I’d never work out! But I’m not and never will be. On some level I’m okay with that . . . if a plane went down,I’d be able to put both my kids on my back and scale over those seats to get us to safety. I’m strong and strong is beautiful.

As you can imagine, this strength comes in super handy in my job. I haul furniture around all by myself like it’s a jug of milk. My clients always comment how “freakishly strong” I am. And it’s true. Who has the time to wait for someone to pick up the other end of the chair when it needs to be moved? I can just bear hug that bitch and move it where I need it to go.

I love the question, “Can I give you hand?” My response: “Feel free to clap if you must. I know I’m good.” (Obviously, my self-esteem is in tip-top form).

My new workout routine rotates through various workouts and they are never the same. The goal is to keep the body guessing. We do “conditioning” (which is like brainwashing for your body only much more painful), weight training (this day is easiest for me since I schlep furniture for a living), and metabolic training (don’t ask; it’s as bad as it sounds). It’s painful and it’s early but I know it’s good for me. I’ve even lost .2 pounds (that sounds plural, even though it’s only part of one).

Design routines can get lazy and tired too.  I have gone through periods when I’m tired of trying to stretch my design muscles, so I start giving my clients what they ask for instead of what’s good for them: a white kitchen, gray walls, subway tile. Don’t get me wrong, all of these things are nice! But that routine has gotten old.

In the world of interior design, we cannot get lazy. We find what’s new and fresh to keep things interesting.

So, what do we do?  Start moving. Warm up (we are old now, remember), stretch and start moving. Move EVERYTHING! The lamp, the sofa, the ottoman, the rug. Change lamp shades with a different lamp. Take down those pictures you worked so hard to hang just perfectly and try them in different places. Paint a wall. Wallpaper something (oh yes, I have ideas for you). Float your bed in the middle of the room and see what happens.

Keep your guests guessing what will be next, what will be the new change, the new “you”. I love when friends come over and ask “what’s new”? They don’t mean “what’s up”, they mean, “what have you done to your house now?” with a slight eye roll and a big hint of jealousy (or disdain) in their tone. It’s like the same tone come people use when they compliment your super tight, well-toned ass (bringing it back to exercise, see what I did there?)  But here’s the thing: you don’t have to get up at 5 am to create a super cool house. Just start moving. Hell, you can even do it with a craft beer in your hand. But don’t kid yourself–you’re not actually working out but you’ll feel just as good afterwards.

Feature photo by Danielle Cerullo on Unsplash

When I walked up to her door, I knew this call would go well. She had a lovely blue and red rug sitting at the front door—I mean a REAL rug, and not some plastic indoor/outdoor P.O.S.  Always a good sign. It means she knows good stuff.

When she opened the door and let me in, my eye was immediately drawn to the oil painting above her fireplace. Turns out the piece has serious history: Her family lived in Cuba during Castro’s reign. Her uncle did “favors” for people and was paid in art and other valuable things. Not sure what those “favors” were but he sure knew how to invoice people. Needless to say, this client and I were going to get along just fine.

As it turns out, her home was filled with lots of amazing pieces–unique rugs and cool antiques sprinkled in here and there. I knew there was a back story beyond her uncle and there was.  My client was raised on the East coast and her mother had loved antiques. Sadly, she had just lost her mother the previous year. The antiques and beautiful rugs were a way of keeping her mother in her life.

So why was I there if she had amazing things and her house had soul? I asked myself this question and of course, she was self-deprecating and said she had no idea what she was doing in regards to design. Bullshit. She had opinions about all the things she loved. She had amazing and colorful stories about each piece, too. She was okay with getting rid of some of her mother’s things that had been from her second failed marriage (“there’s divorce for a reason”, she said at one point, clearly knowing some things weren’t meant to be kept). She definitely knew good design. My heart was pumping hard (as it does when I see awesome stuff) but my head was fuzzy and confused.

Then she showed me “the rug”. This rug was rolled up and stored in her basement. It was a rug that had been in her mother’s house and it was special to both of them. It was another antique oriental rug but with lots of hot pink in it. Now, I friggin’ love hot pink so I was excited.  Then she unrolled it. And it was…okay. It was old. It was nice. But just, okay. And I told her so but in a nice way (yes, I can be nice) that it won’t work with all the other lovely things she had. We  quietly and unceremoniously rolled it back up.

The visit went on and at the end we had a clear plan of action. I was to supplement her rugs and antique case goods with Pottery Barn’s best slipcovered gray sofa (KIDDING!!). As I was leaving, she told me the visit was just what she needed because she was relieved that I gave her the “ok” to move on from the hot pink rug. She felt lighter. 

Of course she had an internal struggle about not using the rug—it was her mother’s rug and her mother was gone. That’s tough shit right there. But, she also realized that just because she chose to move on from something her mother loved, it didn’t mean she was letting go of her mother. It just meant, the rug didn’t  work.

By the way, if she wanted to use that rug, I would have said “fuck it, the rug stays” and made it work!  But, I knew she was on the fence and I think I was there that day to give her the permission to move forward in this very tiny way.

I was quite impressed with this woman, and not because she had great things and is smart and beautiful (oh, did I forgot to mention that part?). She’s still grieving. She saved and cherished so many beautiful things that represent her mother, thereby, honoring her legacy. I felt her mother in the home without ever meeting her. But, I DID get to know her in that visit through the pieces and stories attached to her belongings; she was quite a lady!

I’m not sure why more people don’t see value in remnants from the past. I’m not saying we all need to have antiques littering our home. But if our homes are supposed to reflect ourselves and we are a product of our upbringing, why don’t we represent ourselves as a whole of who we are – including those who defined us. Some pieces speak to us and have soul. Some, like the Pottery Barn gray sofa purchased by a million other people, do not. Don’t be afraid to combine both when choosing your decor. Keep some, divorce the others. Old and new can live together and tell a whole different story of who you are.

You know the dreaded feeling….don’t you? When the doorbell rings out of nowhere, and it’s a neighbor and your house is a freaking mess. Awesome.

Maybe it’s because I’m an interior designer and my house says something about me and my mental state. Or maybe it’s some deep-seated Pavlovian response from my childhood (more on that later). But when people arrive unannounced or otherwise, I want my house to be presentable (that’s my mother’s word, not mine). Like my mom taught me. And her mom before her.

I’m wondering, is it wrong to want to be so “visitor ready” when I pride myself on being real? My house isn’t always “visitor ready” so why do I panic when the situation arises? It’s all good, right?

Growing up, my mother was first generation Irish and grew up poor even though she didn’t know it until she got older. My grandmother raised 7 kids (6 boys and my feisty Irish mother) on her own because my grandfather died when the littlest child was only 2 years old. She cleaned other peoples’ toilets for a living. She had a pride about herself so even though she was poor, she always presented herself to the world in a way that said she was she was proud despite her circumstances. My grandmother always bestowed on her that no matter where you came from, you always had to be presentable, in the way one kept one’s home and one’s appearance. How you presented yourself to the world mattered because when you are poor, you could still hold your head high.

Fast forward . . . my mother meets my father. My mother stayed at home with four kids and a working-class husband. My parents made a nice life for themselves and my father provided for us so that my mother could acquire some nice antique rugs and a few other items of value. These items were cared for and loved. I remember my father painting all the woodwork a sage green and the two of them working together (okay, fighting together) to wallpaper my bedroom. And, we would re-arrange the furniture (a lot) in our small home (gee, I wonder where I get that habit).

Growing up, Saturday was cleaning day. I remember polishing ornate marble-top table bases and moving oriental rugs around like it was nothing. I changed 5 beds and cleaned the bathroom. Then my mom made us all BLT sandwiches with lots of mayo and black pepper and we’d settle in to watch candlepin bowling on TV. Google it, people. My New England peeps are smiling to themselves.

Then the affair happened.

Suffice to say, things went down the shitter. Obviously, we all suffered; and so did the state of our home. Our home was showing cracks: the wallpaper was dated, the sage green trim was chipped. The lawn went un-mowed (which was the worst—people just driving by could see the state of our affairs).

My mother was built-to-last but needed some reinforcements. Back then, people stopped by unannounced. And I was embarrassed. Like an annoying Mrs. Poole from Small Wonder, the very arrival of a guest sent me and my mom running around to make things presentable. I even remember my mother picking up as guests were there talking to her. She seemed to feel guilty and was trying to cover up, or clean up, I should say.

When we knew we were having people over, we cleaned like crazy. And I was okay with that. Even today, I’ll go home for holidays and help my mother clean before the big day. It’s exhausting. Today, despite my best efforts, I don’t like to entertain because not only do I have to prepare the meal, I have to make my house presentable. On the flip side, if my home is “visitor ready”, I don’t want visitors to mess it up! I don’t even want my family to sit on the damn sofa and mess with the pillows. Remember, I’m kind of a control freak.

I never met my grandmother. She died when my mother was 23 and pregnant with my older brother. My grandmother’s words still resonate with me—how you present yourself to the world matters.

I’m not sure if everyone will buy this concept 100 percent. There’s a lot of faking it these days and I don’t just mean in the bedroom. In this modern day social media world, who the hell is anyone anymore? Right or wrong, it’s human nature to make judgements about people. And my grandmother knew that; thus her stance on this matter. Some might question if this is a lesson we should embrace. I didn’t grow up poor. I have no clue what it would be like to start over in a new country, have 7 children, have my husband die when the youngest was 2 years old. I didn’t live her life. But I think what she meant was this: you might be down, but you’re not out. You shouldn’t be fake or mislead people about who you are or where you come from, but you should put out a little effort to be presentable. And that’s more about grit than anything else.

I carry on her life lessons, just as she taught my mom: How you present yourself to the world matters. Work hard.  Take pride in what you own. Be presentable. I often wonder if I’m passing down these family values to my daughter.

Do you have feelings about how you present your home to others? Have you ever stopped to wonder how events in your past shape how you live, decorate and entertain in your own space? Why don’t I drop by unannounced and we can discuss it.

Photo by rawpixel on Unsplash

This is the question I often think when I have couples arguing over the design of a home. Actually, it’s not really a question, but more of a statement about control.

For example, why does a husband want to have way too much kitchen design input when he doesn’t ever cook a meal? Let it go, dude. Go hit golf balls or something. Okay, this is very 1950’s of me. But, you get my point: It has to go both ways!

There are many times where my “point person” on a project is in the home more of the time and requires it to work for them (e.g. men who cook and love certain appliances over another; one partner who works from home and needs ample quiet and space, etc.). Everyone needs a place (even if it’s just a room) they can call home. And, everyone needs to be heard. Couples therapy 101, y’all. But in many cases, I find that a particular family member feels the need to give more input when the choices really don’t involve him. Okay, I used the pronoun “him”. In my experience, this is usually the dynamic of most relationships. Sorry not sorry.

To be fair, I’m a pro at controlling my environment. My therapy is cleaning and organizing when things in my life feel out of control. I want my home to speak the right message to me: everything is going to be okay. I get control.

My husband and I use to fight over control of house stuff. Poor guy. I’d like to think I’m more flexible and I’m sure he’s just capitulated altogether. But, what I’m hoping is that we’ve learned the lesson of “stay in your lane.” When I wanted to buy our current home, he put up a huge stink and dug his heels in with a lot of (invalid to me) excuses. I held firm. I mean, I know houses. That’s what I do. So he went to yoga and came home and said, “okay, buy the house”. THANK YOU yoga. While sweating away at yoga, he concluded that he wasn’t sure why he was trying to control our house choice. Laura knows houses, he thought. Why am I doubting her? Update: He absolutely loves our (forever!) home. He lets me design small and big spaces over and over again; he puts up with me rearranging furniture on a weekly basis. He even doesn’t complain anymore when I ask him to haul shit around that’s been moved 200 times already. He’s a happy husband, I’m a happy home designer in my own home.

On the flip side, my husband is into tons of hobbies I’m not into: concerts, bikes and biking gear, all things hockey, camping equipment, technology and car stuff. I could care less so I stay in my lane. One area where we clash is the basement. My husband’s idea of decorating looks like a mashup of the CBGB bathroom (google it, folks), a college dorm room and a hockey locker room circa 1980. I cringe. He wants band posters everywhere. He wants his drums set up in case he has time to jam out on any given occasion (eye roll). He wants all of his HABS jerseys framed and hung during hockey season. But, I get it. That’s his sanctuary. He needs a place to call his.

So, I used my best couples Therapy 101 teachings and listened. And I think I’ve taken his dorm room basement tastes to a new level, incorporating all the things he loves in a very cool and sexy way. And he loves it. And I love the rest of the house – a fair and appropriate 90%-10% split, lol.

The lesson is: during the design process, care about the things that are important to you and let the rest go. As a designer, I’m here to help! Part creative, part therapist. I promise to be fair.

Feature photo by Brooke Lark on Unsplash

What’s with all the shit everywhere? People, throw stuff away! You don’t need a designer, you need a dumpster. Clutter is the anti-Christ to design. Many times, I’ve walked into (potential) client’s homes and thought this exact sentiment. I say potential because I’m not a (professional) organizer or licensed therapist and so if I was called in to complete such tasks, it’s probably not a good fit.  Do you need a designer to tell you the weekly grocery ads are not on the list of this year’s trend watch?

I’m not talking about hoarding; that’s an entirely different issue. I have empathy for these souls—this is not what I’m talking about here.

I’m also not talking about realities of everyday life and how we all fall behind on putting things away. Homes are meant to get messy and that’s ok. No judgement. I’ve seen plenty of shit-storms hit the Potter household.

Having clutter, chotchkies, too much furniture, 75 dog toys in a basket, receipts, china cabinets with 50 etched water goblets, kids’ toys (don’t even get me started), 1-800-Flower vases in your kitchen cabinets, is a huge problem.  I have never thrown something away or donated something that I ever missed or wished I hadn’t gotten rid of. Every manual or important document can usually be found online.

When everything is on display, nothing is on display. The items in your house should say something about the people living in the home. What good is a beautiful rug when it’s covered in clutter? More importantly, how do you flop on the floor at the end of a day and roll around with your kids when you can’t even see it? (Wrestling is one of my kids’ favorite things to do with their Mom. That’s right. Wrestling. With me.)

Your home says something about your mental well-being and mindset. If you live in chaos, your life is chaos.

That said, I do understand the need to save things.  My parents both grew up fairly poor.  Both 1^st generation Italian and Irish.  My mother in particular grew up with nothing—you know the classic Irish-Catholic family story.  Not having much, you keep everything in your possession as if you’ll never get it again.  Items are revered, but as time went on for my mother she continued to keep everything!  Suddenly the tipping point had been reached.  Her treasures were more like trash. Sometimes she would even stop at homes and place thrown-out items into her car because they were too good to get rid of. (Okay, I’m not ENTIRELY against this practice—some people just don’t know what they are getting rid of).

Well, too many tables and cute chairs and sets of “good china” turned into keeping plastic Chinese food take-out containers “that could be reused.” It’s ok to keep one. But a whole drawer dedicated to plastic containers?  Anyone heard of GLASS?  Remember, glass?  That hard, clear, non-BPS thing that can be washed and reused over and over again.  Yeah, enough with the plastic! (Did I just write that out loud? Clearly I’m passionate about our earth.)

Anyway, back to design. Long sermon, long.  Enough stuff, people. Donate or throw it away.  Or just don’t buy it!  Don’t keep the CVS receipt because it has a coupon for mouthwash on the back of it. Have you ever moved and decided not to open a box because you were so sick of it only to realize you never missed the shit inside? You won’t miss it, people.

Get back to basics: a nice sofa and chair.  One piece of amazing art.  A pretty lamp.  Simple and clean and calm.  Your head will thank you.  Your home will thank you.  Guests might actually get a glimpse into who you are by the home the home you live in.  You’ll connect on a different level to your surroundings. You might even reconnect with your spouse again (it could happen). It’s like meditation. Quiet inside your head.

Feature photo by Goetz Heinen on Unsplash