Pin, Pray, Purchase: The Light at the End of the Renos

Design

Mar 25

I’m sitting in bed now. My midnight blue citrus candle is burning, I’m in a fresh silk and lace nighty, just put my Klorane facial gel on, and snuggled (more like collapsed) in my warm, striped sheets. The lights are dim, and I’ve got Frasier on for some well-fashioned background noise—this whole setting represents the day I’ve had. Alas, it’s been a good one.

The last few days have been a vortex of Pinterest boards (for inspo, duh), online shopping, cleaning our new cupboards (not an ad for microfiber cloths but totally could be), and bringing back skincare essentials from my MIL’s house. Our entire perfume collection is here, despite only using my perfect trio of Ylang Cananga by Chloé, Chance Chanel, and Delilah by Parfums de Marly. But my boyfriend insists we keep them all in case there’s an occasion he’d rather spray Myself by YSL over his usual Creed Aventus. I’ve already brought home some of my lesser-used face creams and body oils (Yves Rocher Monoi is my line of choice) since there’s no use cluttering our bathroom anymore when we have a massive new vanity in our ensuite.

To be honest, not much amounts to organizing, furnishing, and remodeling your house productivity-wise—and after six months of renovations, we’re finally going back and forth to clean and put our belongings back in order. My inner reward system is on fire having given our pots and pans a new home in our kitchen. I finally put the baking set and mixer away after nearly six months since getting it for my birthday. Even the hand-press juicer my boyfriend got for his early 30th has its perfect place in our new kitchen. I tell you, nothing feels as prolific as cleaning and organizing your newly renovated house.

For our first renovation, this was a beast of a project. Guest room, office, guest bath, laundry room, kitchen, powder room, and my beloved master ensuite. These last few months have been a precious chapter in coming closer as a family, testing patience, and giving our routine a facelift for when we get home. We’ve set a new foundation for our life, being here—things like slipping into silk nighties and thousand-thread-count sheets instead of falling asleep on the couch (guilty) are lessons I’ll be taking with me as we head back home in the coming weeks.

“Like a mother bird finding twigs for her nest.”

Franky said these words last night as he handed me the Amex. I was online shopping for some new glasses that matched our, shall I say, ‘refined vibe.’ We went for gorgeous smokey grey glasses, six in tall and six shorter ones, as well as some foam brown fluted mugs to give morning coffee a cozier vibe. (I may or may not have mentioned that our newly built-in coffee machine was six thousand dollars.) I’m still browsing Etsy to find some amber espresso cups. But after all we’ve put into these renos, I just can’t justify seventy dollars if I’m not getting the saucer plates with them. So, the search continues.

We kept our good plates and cutlery since I only got them last year and we’ve got two sets—matte black and stoney white, both with these timeless yet vintage auras. But since getting rid of the island-overhead (and adding gorgeous pendant lights over the island), we’ve found ourselves with a whole extra cupboard for which I convinced the hubby we should fill with formal drinking glasses. Let’s just say, for two people reaching their second year of sobriety, the wine, whiskey, margarita, and champagne glasses we got are giving “sommelier…” We even got a free wine fridge from the appliance company after decking our whole kitchen with brand new Fisher & Paykel. Between us, we’ll probably just keep refilling Voss bottles until we have guests over. Great use of a wine fridge, don’t you think? Either way, the cupboard is just above the oversized island, making it “unreachable,” and so I thought—what better way to use the unattainable cupboard than for liquor glasses we’ll never touch?

After some advanced geometry, putting air fryers and toasters away, I arrived at my next challenge: making cleaning supplies and medicine cabinets look good. Before the renos, we (shamefully) stuffed medicine and hygiene products in old cookie tins (where you’re technically supposed to find sewing kits), but this new era of our home demanded to be taken more seriously. I find that some renos demand you to grow up—mature your interior design style and up your decor and organization game. And after a flashback to the 72 hours of pinning leading up to this, I just couldn’t settle for anything less than proper baskets and aesthetically-pleasing organization.

I called Franky with that innocent-though-totally-mischievous sound in my voice, practically pleading for some extra budget space. I mean… you can’t expect a grown woman to get her vitamins out of a repurposed Royal Dansk tin, can you? But to my absolute surprise, he gave me a cheerful green light.

Thirty minutes and three hundred dollars later, I came home with new hand towels (I blame Pinterest), about ten sizeable hemp baskets, and some honey-essence soap bottles (because several hundred ‘K’s later, Pinterest can’t convince me that Byredo or Aesop is in the budget). In my opinion, the bottles were even nicer than the ones on my secret board, and they were only nine dollars! To me, they were a total score! It took me two trips to the car to get everything inside. Two. Full. Trips. At one point I was juggling baskets on each hip, keys in my mouth, and the soap bottles—those precious, glass, honey-scented little miracles—were stashed in my purse to avoid the ultimate tragedy. I nearly sent Franky a gif of Elle Woods with her Jeep packed to the brim, looking fabulous and mildly unhinged, because that was the energy. The only thing missing was Bruiser and a hot pink scarf.

As I pause to reflect on my next paragraph, the shipping notification on our new chandelier hits my inbox. I see no coincidence there. We purchased the most beautiful accent lighting to complement the fresh potlights. Pendant lights have been the name of the game this reno. In the kitchen, in the living room, and up the stairs going to the master bedroom. It took us months to figure out what we would replace our chandelier with. It was an older, not quite mid-century, not quite modern (I’d even consider medieval) pendant light that kind of looked like candles, next to the fan on our forty-foot ceilings. I know Franky wanted to replace that thing for ages now, but I never thought we would find the perfect ones.

One lesson we learned about renos is that it’s a lot of browsing until you find the one. And then it speaks to you. And that inner yes becomes the carpet, the light, the tile, the countertop, the appliances, the layout, and the finishings you pick. But like I said, we browsed for months before finding the abstract and absolutely glorious pendant chandelier that we ended up duping on Etsy. The original was over four thousand dollars, but thanks to Google reverse-image search, we found a Turkish company who would make it for us for nine hundred. Add to Cart button? No. Buy Now.

The second light going up towards our master was found on Etsy as well. We kind of went through a whole “Amber is the color of your energy” situation. And thus, we found the Genevieve Amber Glass Pendant Light for three hundred dollars. In my opinion, the combo is to die for.

I have to say, renovations are like one long romantic comedy—with less kissing and more squabbles over tile colors. And yet, here we are. The dust has settled, the caulking has dried, and the final touches have been booked. The house smells like fresh paint and possibility. And as I light my midnight blue citrus candle tonight, I finally feel like... her. The woman I always hoped I would become when I was younger and thought that “adulting” meant matching hand towels and a brand new spice rack (shoutout to Amazon for delivering both my dreams and my delusions with Prime shipping).

But let’s not pretend this glow-up was all linen baskets and natural lighting. There were times I was one potlight away from a meltdown. Not just from the delays or the wrong dimensions or the fourth time we changed sink choices, but from the existential itch that comes from not having a home that feels like yours. That strange limbo where everything’s boxed up, on pause, or being delivered. Where nothing feels sacred except your Pinterest boards and the thought of a six-thousand-dollar cup of coffee.

But looking back on this project… and our relationship, we’ve gone from sleeping on futons together to choosing espresso cups based on their aura. That’s what this new chapter feels like: a big, Pinterest-worthy, over-budget exhale. And it’s made me realize something a little poetic: renovations don’t just renovate your home. They sort of... renovate you, too.

I never thought I’d get emotional over a medicine cabinet, and yet... here we are. There’s something so sacred about choosing where our bamboo Wok cleaner will live. Something so beautiful about giving your life, your things, your routines—a place, especially after everything was on pause for so long. When I finally stood at the door today and thought of the little honey-scented soap bottles, the woven baskets, and our Anthony Bourdain cookbook sitting like a master on its stand, I nearly cried. Genuinely.

Because this wasn’t just cleaning.

Or organizing.

This wasn’t even about renovating.

This was nesting.

I think there’s a misunderstood art in homemaking. People overlook its importance when in fact, it’s the foundation of our lives. Like how you feel when you wake up. Or whether your day starts with chaos or calm. Whether dinner feels rushed or like a ritual. I started lighting candles while I write, putting on jazz while I fold towels. And I swear, it shifted everything.

Now, I’ll be honest: my Pinterest board flirts with the idea of bankruptcy. But girl math always wins. Why spend $110 on Aesop soap when I found nearly identical ones for $9 each? I’m not above decanting drugstore lotion into a fancy pump to make it feel more spa-esque. We all have our tricks, and our guests will never know the difference.

Franky nearly had a stroke when I pitched the seventy-dollar espresso cups that didn’t even come with the matching saucers. I knew I’d lost him when he just blinked and asked, “What am I—buying stocks?” Okay, fair.

But still. The aesthetic was there.

I’ve made peace with our foam brown mugs and am still stalking a couple of vintage amber sets on Etsy. If God wants me to have them, they'll still be available when I check tomorrow. And if not? Well, then He’s probably protecting my marriage.

There is something incredibly romantic about building a home with someone. Not just physically. I mean... you know? (Not to mention, today was the day that after eleven years living together, I finally legally changed my address to his. Now that’s romantic!)

The act of choosing tiles together and debating faucet finishes is weirdly intimate. We’ve fought, laughed, changed the plan ten times, and said “do we really need this?” to about every single upgrade we now own. But somewhere in between merging our visions together and clashing on colors, we’ve built something stronger: a routine… a relationship… a nest.

When Franky joked the other night that I was like a mother bird finding twigs for her nest, I wanted to cry. Not because of the metaphor, but because he handed me the Amex while saying it. To me, that’s love. That’s trust. That’s a man who understands that his future wife needs a very specific aesthetic for her dish soap bottles, thank you very much.

We haven’t moved back in just yet, and for the first time in months, I’m okay with that. The fridge still isn’t plugged in, the floors still have covers on them, and we’ve yet to have our first slow Saturday morning with coffee brewing in that six-thousand-dollar machine. But I can feel it. Home is close.

There’s a sacredness in this in-between—the packing and repacking, the endless trips across the city, the deep satisfaction of finding exactly the right place for the baking pans and perfume collections. This has been a stretch of life that has tested everything for us—our taste, our patience, Franky’s credit limit. But also, our ability to dream. And hold the vision long enough to see it bloom.

Home isn’t just a place you move into. It’s a place you grow into.

And maybe that’s what this whole renovation was actually about. Not just new tiles or better lighting and taller cabinets—but a soft becoming for our relationship. A version of us that knows how to make any space ours. And how to honor every stage of our lives, not just rush through them.

There’s a new reverence I am carrying with me now. For the life we’re creating. The cups we’ll drink from. And the kind of love that hands you the Amex mid-scroll because, yes, baby, you do deserve matching baskets.

And as we get ready to move back, I know I’ll be romanticizing everything. Lighting a candle before getting in our fresh new sheets. Wiping the counters like it’s a holy ritual (because twenty-thousand-dollar ‘Taj Mahal’ quartzite must absolutely be treated as such). Even folding my new Portuguese towels with full presence.

I used to think this was one big, insurmountable project with no end in sight. A never-ending list of delays, decisions, dimensions, and designs. But now I see it for what it really was—

Little ways to say,

“I love you, baby. Welcome home.”

Links:

GLASSES & MUGS

Tall Stackable Glasses Set of 2: https://bit.ly/4hKTCaR

Short Stackable Glasses Set of 2: https://bit.ly/424beJ3

Foam Brown Fluted Mug: https://bit.ly/42mhgF5

Square Wine Glasses Set of 6: https://bit.ly/4iIQI7U

Champagne Flutes Set of 6: https://bit.ly/4kZXzLC

Coupe Martini Glasses Set of 6: https://bit.ly/4kYoqHX

KROSNO Whiskey Glasses Set of 6: https://bit.ly/420ZJlB

LIGHTING:

Handcrafted Curved Disk Stingray Brass Chandelier: https://bit.ly/4iF97lU

Genevieve Amber Glass Pendant Light: https://etsy.me/4l5DVhp

PS: As this article… and the episode come to a draw, I can almost hear Frasier sigh: “They say money can’t buy happiness… but it can purchase sconces—and really, what’s the difference?”