Mine.

Today I painted on my wall. Words, actually. I painted words on my wall. I did not plan to paint words on my wall when I woke up this morning. Actually, I did not plan to paint words on my wall two hours before I did it. But. I painted words on my wall. Words that mean something to me, for my family. I did not plan well. I didn't carefully determine exactly how I would do it. I didn't even make sure the whole thing was perfectly straight. I picked out a paint brush (two, actually), chose paint, and stuck some tape haphazardly in mostly straight lines. And I wrote. This is what I wrote, completely plagiarized from someone's pinterest post:

In this house...
we do REAL
we do mistakes
we do I'm sorry
we do second chances
we do FUN
we do hugs
we do forgiveness
we do really LOUD
WE DO FAMILY
we do LOVE.

It's not straight. It's not precise. It bucks against my absolute perfectionism. And I totally and completely love it.  Because it says what I believe. What I have always believed but have never had the courage to write on my walls. But there it is. The first thing you see when you walk in my front door. Because, you see...these walls? They're mine. This family? It's mine. And that wall? It is how I choose for us to live.

Period.