Not with a man. Or even a child. A year ago today, I flew to Texas and drove my realtor to exhaustion by looking at 22 houses in a little under four hours. The house I'm sitting in right now was the fourth or fifth house on the death march, and became the measuring stick by which I judged all the others.
The next day, when we prepared to make the offer, I started to get nervous. It seemed too perfect-- big enough that we'd have room to grow, new enough that nothing would need too much work, close enough that Eddie wouldn't spend hours in the car every day and Bryce could walk to school, cheap enough that we could (almost) afford it. But we went ahead, and within a couple of hours knew that the house was ours.
A year later I can unequivocally say we made the right decision. I've spent the last 10 months painting and decorating (another bonus was that the previous owners had lived in the house for 8 years but had been workaholics who had done very little decorating-- so it was a tabula rasa for me and my rollers).
So here's a little ode in pictures to my home sweet home:
I ran outside in a thunderstorm for this picture, potentially sacrificing myself in the name of blogging:
They always say that the kitchen is the heart of the home:
Thinking pink:
Plates and pillows and an accent wall, oh my:
The playroom glows:
Sanctuary:
Is it any wonder he has his animal sounds mastered?:
Looking shipshape:
Four computer-literate family members makes this the most popular room in the house:
Happiness:
--originally published 3/29/06
No comments:
Post a Comment