This Old House

This house is our house, our home, our thorn, our blessing. I bought this house before we married, but Lee has always been the muscle behind it.  From day one, he's helped with all the renovation, projects and improvements.

But this house is more than the roof over our heads.  This house is where Lee and I discussed our future.  Its where Lee proposed and afterward, where we sat together and called our friends and family to share our excitement.  This house is where we planned our wedding and discussed our pre-marital counseling. After our wedding, this house is where we came home to.

It was in this house that Lee announced he wanted to go to medical school, and this house is where we lived for aaaaaall the years of his school.  It was in this house where we laughed and cried with so many friends, and with each other.

We bought our first piece of furniture for this living room, our first (and second) replacement appliance, our first Christmas tree for the first of many family celebrations.

This one, very small bathroom is where we waited for the results of so many pregnancy tests, and where I woke Lee up early that one morning when it was finally positive.  And it was this small bedroom where we set up a nursery.

It was here that we brought Esther home from the hospital.  And it was this house where we rocked and fed and fell in love with a beautiful baby girl.

It is this front yard that I've mowed countless times, planted flowers that have died and died and died.  The back yard is what inspired this blog in the first place, with my first and second attempts at a garden (both failures...0-2 on growing vegetable provisions for my family).

Then the Walker men built me a deck in the back yard, which only increased the guys' nights, afternoons of reading and mornings of playtime.
   This house, that totally shifts every few years, causing deeper splits, new wall cracks, and a continuously steeper downhill slope. This house that is so small sometimes I can't spread my arms without knocking something over.  This house that has one, VERY small bathroom.  All - er, both - our faucets leak and at least one part of the floor in every room creaks.  You have to pull out and out and sometimes put some shoulder muscle into shutting the doors.

The closets are more like slightly deep doorways, and the ceilings are so low that I can touch them.  And I'm pretty short. The front lawn has a dead patch where nothing grows, not even transplanted grass. The yard on both sides of the house grows weeds but no grass, and seems to be a magnet for clay, standing water and dead leaves.
   This house, this yard - these walls and floors and windows and doors - this house has contained our lives for these 9 years. If it had a soul, we could call it a witness to our lives.  I hate this house on days, and I love it on others.  But no matter what day it is, I am grateful for this house.  I am grateful for our one bathroom, for our creaking floors and cracked walls, and for our patchy grass.  I am grateful for our door that sticks, our cozy living room and the "study" that got Lee through med school. I am incredibly grateful for this house, this old, lovely house.