I have always fought the domestic diva within. Coming to grips with my “nesting” nature has been one of the major mental obstacles that I have had to tackle in my adult life. I remember rolling my eyes at the women in my family who seemed to constantly talk about tablecloths and drapes as if it was some sort of womanly obligation to give a crap about someone’s drapes. I could probably blame the post-modern construction of femininity as the cause for me to shun anything resembling a 50’s housewife but I won’t. It is true that I, like a lot of girls out there, was a rough and tough tomboy growing up (well maybe not so tough but definitely rough). But while I would like to daydream that I was 100% tomboy back then, the simple truth is that my childhood is chock-full of evidence that I was design inclined.
My dad was the coolest dad ever and built my very own playhouse when I was little. This was definitely my first designed space. I definitely agonized over the curtains and constantly re-arranged the 8′x8′ space. I was also a LEGO-maniac for most of my young years and I spent an inordinate amount of time creating cities where all of the houses had the appropriate landscaping and fully designed interiors. Of course, I also had a dollhouse way beyond the age of playing with dolls and all I cared about was decorating it.These instances are repeated again and again throughout my long life.
When I look back at my childhood, it is hardly shocking that I spent every summer in college watching design shows in order to design the new space I was moving into–floor plans and all. While I may have been surprised by this development I seriously doubt that anyone who really knew me was at all.