No. Not the kind you grind up with cilantro and sea salt to create a devastatingly good pesto.
I mean me. I've grown tired of our furniture. Every. Single. Piece of it.
Every time I turn around there's an inadequate bookshelf. Dated hardware. A not quite so comfortable any more couch (or three.)
Last night my favorite dog peed on one of those not quite so comfortable couches. And then I declared war on our ugly furniture.
This morning, I pulled the covers off of the couches and rubbed their edges with stain remover. After an hour in the washer, they are clean and bright, swinging in the breeze from the clothesline. Those couches are cleaner than they were the day we bought them. I do hope that makes them seem more comfortable. Not that the children will notice. They aren't allowed to sit on them anymore. Zoe managed to get four colors of magic marker on the love seat before 8am this morning. No-kids-on-the-couch seems more reasonable than a lot of other options I considered.
Also, I hate every single one of our lamps.
So I've been painting, priming, digging through the basement looking for the yellow paint I know is hiding down there somewhere. My favorite paint brush ran away from home, so I have to go to the hardware store (again) and get another one. Looks like a bomb hit my kitchen.
Random ambition is a dangerous thing.