Making Your House Your Home

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Over to the far left, can you see the tiny numbers hidden behind the tree branch?

Has there ever been that one thing about your new house that makes it not your home?  I found that when I moved into the house in Tennessee, that the mailbox and I had to settle a thing or two.  The previous owner of the house had placed a tiny padlock on the mailbox so the mailman couldn’t leave mail there.  The house had been empty for quite some time before we moved in, so I understood.  Except that I called him 3 or 4 times to drop the key off to me or tell me where I could meet him to get the key… something – anything…  Well, I finally got sick and tired of trying to chase him down so I went to Wal-Mart and bought a set of bolt cutters.  It’s really funny to think about now, but then I was madder than hell that I was being denied access to my mailbox.  I bought these huge bolt cutters that could probably cut through a super huge padlock for this tiny little lock.  But, by God, I was getting that stupid lock off that mailbox.

(Side note:  I know, I get distracted by the dumbest things.  Why didn’t I just go out and buy a new mailbox, you ask?  Because it was the principle of the thing.  And besides, you know you love me because of my little eccentricities – HA)

Anyway, once I was able to get into the mailbox, I was also able to say that this is MY home now.

So you might be asking yourself, “What is the thing about the new house that has stopped me from saying it’s mine?”

The house numbers.  Yes, that’s right.  The address numbers on the front porch.  The first time I saw the house back in October 2012, I thought about those numbers being too small and there was a tree branch hiding them.  So I have thought and imagined and schemed and planned to fix this little problem.

First, I knew I needed bigger numbers, so I went to the local hardware store, Mr. T’s, and bought some 6 inch black numbers.  At first I thought I would just screw them on to the larger middle post on the front porch, but then I thought that was too boring.

Second, I asked my brother-in-law if the Aspen Valley Harley Davidson had any spare pallets that I could have.  He delivered those pallets within a couple of days to me – way before I was ready to use them.  I am sure my neighbors are wondering if I am some kind of hoarder.  I am not, I assure you.  I just take my sweet time in completing my projects.

Third, I went to Pinterest for ideas on how to take apart that pallet – Ha!!  hahahahaha!!!  I tried the crowbar tool I had left over from putting in the laminate floors in the house in TN and a hammer.  That lasted about 5 minutes, tops, before I realized that the post was right – those pallets are meant to last and put up with abuse.  They do not come apart easily.  So the next best tool came out, the saw!!  I just cut the boards I needed out of the pallet and decided to use that size because it worked so well.  Again, I am sure my neighbors think I am crazy.  They may be right.

Fourth, I assembled the boards into a sign, painted it the same color I painted my mantel and side cabinets (which I haven’t shared with you yet because the cabinets are not mounted on the wall…still).

Fifth, back to Pinterest to find out how to paint letters on the sign.  This technique worked to a point, but I had to improvise a little bit because the pallet wood was very hard and was not easy to make indentations on it.  So, I went to the sewing supplies and pulled out the dressmakers marking paper.  I placed it, color side down, on the board, then placed my printed words on top and traced the letters.  After I was done with that, I used a black Sharpie to draw in the outline of the letters.  I did that, just in case the marking paper marks got wiped off.  Then I painted in the letters.

I sprayed the whole sign with a clear coat protector and added the 6 inch numbers.  I added a couple of heavy duty picture hangers to the back and hung it on the front porch.

Now, this is MY home!!

Not very fancy, but it's mine.

Not very fancy, but it’s mine.

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And yes, I know it is not square – that’s the point. I don’t want perfection, I want me.

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