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Pinterest Is Dangerous for Moms

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I am a renter of a four bedroom beige home with orange, brown, and yellow checkered parquet floors. The walls are barren of décor, unless dust counts. I am the mom for whom sites like Pinterest and Houzz are made. When I click on the idea books and cork boards, I feel completely motivated to beautify my environment . . . for about three minutes.

Then I start to think about unloading the dishwasher, paying bills or cutting my 7-year-old's nails.

Home improvement is a not a passion of mine. It literally took me a year to hang one picture. I tell myself that we deserve better and that if all of these other Pinterest users remodeled their garages with a quick cement wash and duct tape, why can't I? I think about the envy I feel when I visit a friend's house and their dish rags match their tablecloths. I resolve to pick one project.

I calculate the cost and number of hours required to convert my spice cabinet from a hollow cave to a color-coordinated, bright, labeled thing of beauty. After about five minutes of dreaming, I decide that I am much too busy with my full-time job, commute and kids to even buy the tape for the label maker.

Over time, I figured out how to spice up my own sex life—but I will probably never get around to that spice rack.

With guilt, I close the screen that contains my design dreams, and get back to work. I feel just as I did as a young woman when I viewed porn for the first time—so inadequate. I thought, why are those women so loud? They have all the same parts as me, yet they seem to be so much better at it. As I grew up, I realized that the women were paid actors and that the screams and moans were for the viewers. Over time, I figured out how to spice up my own sex life—but I will probably never get around to that spice rack.

After having my son, I experienced patches of nesting and intense cleaning spurts. Amazingly, the Martha Stewart gene did not come with the baby. I'm still envious of my friend who bought an old door and converted it into an antique display case. I am not that girl. I never will be.

Especially now that I'm a busy mom, when I feel incredibly inspired to transform some home space; watch out because it usually includes plans, spray-paint and disaster. Not unlike my sex life.

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