Like my husband, I grew up living a very transient life. We literally moved every 6 to 10 months. My dad was a realtor and he was constantly scouting for the next house. We were never allowed to have colored walls or hang anything up. Our basement was always full of boxes and I truly hated the process. The time in between moves began to stretch out as we got older but it never ended. Even when my parents lived on the coast, they lived in 4 different houses in a 8 year period. Dh and I vowed this would not be our life.
However, it took a bit to get to a more stable life. Our first home we had for 4 years and spent much of the time getting used to being married, renovating, a year later having our first baby, renovating, creating our dayhome, renovating, 2 years later having our second baby, renovating, then finally moving to a bigger home. Which then required some renovating and then moving in less than 2 years out to our little hamlet. We didn't have to do any renovating as the family we bought it from had just done that, but 6 months in, with a newborn, a 2.5 year old and a 4.5 year old, our home was engulfed in a fire. We had to live in a condo for months while it was rebuilt, then we moved home and spent time decorating as everything was brand new and we were desperately trying to make it feel homey and cozy. All of us had a hard time sleeping and settling in, so less than 2 years later, we moved once again, to a home we had seen as a show home 10 years before. It needed some work, so we threw ourselves in to making it just right for the 5 of us. And dh went back to University, while we renovated. The year he graduated, we took on 2 big tasks .... we embarked on our 4th pregnancy and when she was just 2 months old, we moved out to the coast to be closer to my parents. We were fortunate to live with them while we waited for our tiny condo to be built. But our house back here didn't sell and dh's new job wasn't what he hoped for. So the following year, we moved back home. In the end, we stayed in that house for 24 years, the first time we really put down solid roots. I'm so proud our kids were able to grow up in the same neighborhood. That they didn't have to leave good friends. Or change schools. Or have white walls. Or boxes in their closets. They didn't have to worry about big changes and new landscapes. At times I envied their care free childhoods. But always so thankful we could give them that. Something we both had wished for and craved as kids.
And now this house. We have truly felt "home" since the day we moved in. We designed this house, we helped build it, we changed things to make them better, we dreamed of this for years. And here we are. The other night, lounging on the couch watching a Christmas show, I looked over and saw this corner of our great room. And realized that this tiny picture shows just what home is to me. Warmth, color, vintage books, items of love, softness, a grandmother's chair, a quilt, a pillow, soft stuffies and memories. It really can't get any better than this. Cold outside, warm inside. HOME.
~ Chy
No comments:
Post a Comment