After having our house on the market for two weeks, it sold. Today. While I know this is exciting news and the next chapter will be great, right now I’m not ready to turn the page. Instead, I want to re-read the last chapters, the ones that turned this little green house into a home.
When we first opened the door on 8th avenue, it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel ours. It felt foreign and musty and odd. For the first months, it felt like we were house guests and I was sure it would always feel like borrowed space. This house was built in 1950 and we were only the second owners. The family before us lived and loved this house for over fifty years. It was theirs, not ours. The mauve draperies, bird wallpaper, wood paneling, blue toilet, and orange & olive green shag carpet reminded us of that in case we were about to forget.
Of course, we changed those things and many others during our time here. I could spend this entire post listing the projects we have tackled. Somehow, this space slowly became ours, every project embossing a little more of our character in these four walls. While I could credit these projects as the catalyst to what made this house a home, I know it has been so much more.
This little green home was our first married home, the first place I have ever lived with a man. It was the space we chose to carve out and share daily life–the nitty gritty–with each other. This little green house has seen tears, laughter, love and the silliest of arguments. It has seen family and friends alike. It has fit more people than it probably should into its tiny living and dining room, not able to contain the fullness of family time, with members overflowing into the front yard. It has contained the most precious, tender and tough moments of my life–you know, those conversations that can only happen when you are under the covers, in the dark, feeling safe to share the deepest and most vulnerable parts of yourself. This little green house held me while I walked and relaxed my way through the first hours of labor and welcomed us back with a round and rosy girl in our arms. It protected us through storms–the weather kind and the new-parent kind. Without us realizing it, this little green house became home. A haven that belonged to us, the three of us, and nobody else. It became ours, as we became us.
When I think about the two kids who moved in here, sometimes I hardly recognize them. Man, they had so much to learn. But one life lesson and house project at a time, we found our place. I know that place can be transported and it is not contained to physical space, but I also know these walls are saturated with memories of us, most of which I never want to forget, but want to carry with me through the remaining adventures ahead.
(This picture was taken when we purchased the little green house five years ago)