Category: home

Decade

Ten years ago today, my husband and I closed on our house, picked up the keys, and drove our first truckload of boxes and furniture to our new driveway. It had been such a long process–nearly nine months of searching online, meeting with the Realtor, walking through countless houses, inspecting every inch, ruling them out one by one, until one finally stood out to us. We could picture ourselves living there. We could imagine the kids loving it there.

We unlocked the front door together on that chilly December morning and took our first step inside. Just like that, it was no longer a vacant house. It was our home.

That evening, after a long, grueling day of driving back and forth, lugging boxes, hauling furniture, transferring everything we owned to our new place, I took a break to hang our Christmas wreath. I snapped a picture of the front of the house, the empty porch. The picture is blurry, likely because I was so tired and worn out from moving all day, but I’m glad I took it. Looking at it now, I smile, remembering how terrified and excited at the same time I was about buying the house, and exhausted and sore from moving, but so damn happy too.

Before we closed on the house, I had fallen in love with an antique-looking, deep cherry wood bed that I spotted at a furniture store. It was too big to store at our old apartment, so I had to have it delivered to the house after our closing date. I still admire that bed, the dramatic, carved headboard, every time I walk into our bedroom.

I can’t believe it’s been an entire decade since move-in day. Maybe no one else celebrates the day they moved into their home, but my husband and I adore our house and put a lot of work into it, inside and out. Our tradition is to celebrate each year by adding something to the house, maybe something small, like a decoration, or plants in the yard, or something quite large, like this year: we are in the middle of tearing down the old deck and building a new one, complete with new patio furniture, solar lights on the posts, little touches to make it ours.

Tonight, I want to take a moment to step into the front yard, to stand where I was when I took that first picture of the front porch, and look back over the past 10 years and how far we have come. Here’s to another 10, then many more, of loving our home together.

Grateful

Okay, I am a few days late posting this. But I love the quote and just had to share it.

I wasn’t online the day after Thanksgiving to post this. Or the day after that. Or over the weekend. I had five days off for Thanksgiving, and it still wasn’t enough! We were so busy that the days streaked right by, like I knew they would.

We had a home filled to bursting on Thanksgiving, including two grandchildren, and I was trying to take it all in while still capturing as much as I could with pictures. It was loud. It was chaotic. And I loved it.

I was running from room to room, trying to keep up with an energetic two-year-old, while offering my help in spurts in the kitchen, where my husband was putting the finishing touches on an awesome dinner, and also hopping in and out of conversations as I passed by the kids and their significant others. I didn’t want to miss anything, with anyone.

My husband told me our Thanksgiving table setting looked like something from a magazine, which made me proud. He had helped me pick out flowers for the centerpiece, and I love how it all looked together. A pretty home makes me so happy.

During dinner, I looked around the table, watching everyone talk and eat and laugh, and I thought, this must be how my mom felt all those years, when all four of us kids were home, back at her table, joking around and carrying on–excited to have everyone there, but also knowing that soon everyone will scatter again, and grasping onto each moment and holding onto them while they were there.

I caught my husband’s eye across the table, above the colorful flowers, and felt so content and proud and loved. He was holding our youngest grandson, who is enraptured with my husband’s beard and had his fingers twined around it, like he always does. I grabbed my phone from the living room and caught a quick picture of the two of them, then a picture of the whole gang, before tossing my phone back onto the couch and sitting back down to just enjoy everyone.

We left the mess in the kitchen to relax in the living room with everyone after dinner. As people left, the crowd dwindled, and it was just our oldest son, his wife, and the youngest grandbaby, so we got on the floor and played with him. I didn’t even know my stepson’s wife was taking pictures of us, but when I saw them later, I loved them and was so grateful she took them. My hair was a mess from running around and direly needed a good brushing, but I didn’t care. I was sitting beside my husband, focused on our grandson, cooing and talking, watching him try his hardest to take a step, and I love that picture more than any perfectly posed or filtered snapshot simply because of who I was with, and the moment it captured.

After we waved good-bye to everyone in the driveway, we walked back into the house and realized that the Thanksgiving fairies had not cleaned up any of the dinner mess in the kitchen. We got to work, chatting about the day as we washed and dried dishes, wiped down counters, and swept floors.

As we snuggled up in bed that night, we were still talking about the day, the grandbabies, how good it was to see everyone. I held onto him tight, grateful for the day we met, grateful for the day we had just spent, grateful for our love, our family, our home.

Peace

Every morning, I set the alarm at least 20 minutes earlier than I actually have to get up. I do it on purpose. That early morning time, in the shadows of the bedroom, snuggled under the covers, is something I treasure and look forward to.

I hit snooze, tuck back in, and my husband wraps me up tight in his arms. It’s peaceful, safe, happy. Often, I find myself dozing back off, because I am so comfy and content.

This morning, I hit snooze again…then again. I was chilly, so I tugged the quilt up to my chin, cozied back up to my husband’s chest, and thoroughly enjoyed the tranquil, soothing moment before the alarm went off one last time, and it was time to reluctantly climb out of bed.

Most days, I simply adjust, shift gears and dive into work once I get to the office. Today…nope. Stubbornly, petulantly, like a toddler stomping her foot during a tantrum, all I have wanted to do is go back home, to the peace and love and happiness that my husband and I share there.

He has told me more than once that he loves our house, but what makes it a home is me. I love that. It’s the greatest compliment I think I have ever received.

Today, that is all I want, and nothing else can take its place: I want to be with him. I want to be at home. And I can’t get back there soon enough.

The Orchard House

I am at work today, but mentally, I keep drifting back to my week off. My husband and I drove up to Pennsylvania and met up with my brothers at a huge house on an apple orchard. It was gorgeous! There was a bridge at the end of the driveway, then a long, winding drive up to the house, surrounded by mountains and horses and trees. I grew up in a mountain valley, so I felt like I was home.

One of my brothers couldn’t make it, and I missed him. A lot. I really wanted all four of us together. Maybe next time.

The days went by so damn fast. I enjoyed every minute. I took as many pictures as I could. I stayed up much later than I should have, sitting by the fire in the backyard, near a little waterfall and pond, just talking and laughing with my husband and brothers. I wanted to hold onto each moment tightly, because I knew it would be over before I was ready.

We visited our parents’ gravesite one morning, then drove by our childhood home. As soon as I saw the little white fence at the end of the driveway, I felt my chest tighten. It was home, but it wasn’t; it belongs to someone else now. That person had made some changes to the yard, and we drove by in silence, knowing we didn’t really have a right to be upset about it, but we were upset anyway. It felt like they were trespassing, no matter how logically we understood that it wasn’t Mom’s house anymore.

When the morning arrived to head home, I fought tears as I hugged my brothers good-bye. I saw my younger brother run up to my older brother’s car, laughing, joking around about something, and I wanted so much to have one more day with them. We miss out on each other’s lives so much now, living so far away from each other.

I have already sent an email to my brothers, asking for ideas to start planning a get-together for next year. I hope we can make it happen, get all four of us in the same place again, even if just for a little while.

Yesterday, my husband and I took the day off to recover from the long drive, to unpack, catch up on laundry. Last night, he sighed and said no matter how many days together we get, he wishes for just one more. I feel the same way. It says a lot that after a day-long car drive (each way), and several full days together, we still wanted more of each other.

Driving home, I found myself glancing over at him, my heart swelling with pride and love and so much emotion. He didn’t complain–not even once–about the long drive. He did whatever he needed to do, to get me in the same place as my brothers again. I loved watching them interact and tease each other and share stories. My younger brother told my husband that he is part of the family, like it or not, and we laughed, but it also meant a lot to me that he feels that way.

I loved watching my husband visit places for the first time, his excitement, the way he would suddenly turn to me and hug me and say “This is so cool. Thank you.” I loved making new memories with him and having new stories to tell about our trip. I love that he is in my life to share each day, at home, on vacation, on the road…anywhere.

Rain

Yesterday was more than rainy. For a while, I suspected that I would need a boat to get home from work. I could hear rain slamming the roof, threatening to burst in on us, and it was hard to concentrate.

I love a light, gentle drizzle, the lulling tap of rain drops on windows. What we got yesterday was the opposite: forceful rain, roaring thunder, angry wind. I have never liked thunderstorms. They are the sound of destruction to me, and I just can’t wait for them to be over.

I texted my husband to see if he was safe at home yet, and once he was, I felt a bit better. He said I should just come on home, but since we were under a tornado warning, we weren’t even allowed to leave the office.

I stayed a little late at work, waiting for a brief easing of the downpour, then made a bolt for my car. Why did I park so dang far away when I knew it was going to rain? I wrestled my umbrella against the wind, then finally slammed the car door against the mess and headed home at last.

Pulling into the driveway always makes me feel instantly more at peace, and running from the car to the front porch, I was relieved. My husband smiled as I came inside, and I closed and locked the door against the storm outside.

This morning, it was blissfully chilly, everything still drenched, but calm, raindrops perched on edges of flower petals and leaves. Soon, hot and muggy weather will march in and make itself at home, so I soaked in as much of the cool morning as I could.

Now that the rain has passed, my mind has turned to our garden and what to dive into this weekend. Mulch was delivered today, and I would much rather be at home, cleaning up flower beds and getting covered in mud and mulch crumbs, transforming our yard one small bit at a time, slowly erasing the scars of winter and dressing up each flower bed in fresh spring finery.

Well, I might be stuck at my desk instead, but nothing is stopping me from scribbling down my yard work to-do list or looking up gardening inspiration online, is it?

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