anniversaries

A year ago today, the man and I were sitting at a long, polished mahogany table, nervously questioning what we were doing. Was it the right decision? Were we getting in over our heads? Were we moving too quickly? How were we going to manage everything?

Because a year ago today, we put the offer on our house. I remember the trepidation, the excitement, the butterflies in my stomach as we signed page after page.

Throughout the whole process, we were blessed to have an amazing real estate agent working with us, answering all of our questions, guiding us beyond our fears, and laughing at my sarcasm. We went to homes in foreclosure that had beer cans left in living rooms, and homes where the kitchen had been ripped out save for a cabinet. We laughed over other peoples decoration ideas, and fretted over whether my grandmother’s furniture (which I had inherited) would fit up staircases. We wondered if we could make one of the houses our home.

And then we made a second visit to the house we live in now. The decor was shabby, run down, and the kitchen left something to be desired. But it had a huge yard. A two car garage. And every single item on our wish list. And more. It was huge. Would the owner’s really come down on the price? Would I be able to put up with the wallpaper until we could afford to take it down?

Every other house that we had been to felt like a space that would always belong to another person.  I found myself wondering who lived in the houses, why they were selling, how long they had lived there. But somehow in this space, I felt like we could make it ours.

So now, as I sit in our attic “manloft” with the man on his computer in one corner, and me on the couch typing at the coffee table, both cats perched in the room, I know. We are home.