“Happy Anniversary!” That’s my husband reminding me that as of Halloween night we have now celebrated thirteen years in our home. As children of immigrant homeowners, we both knew that homeownership was part of the plan. Five years into our marriage, a vision board, and an awesome testimony later, we crossed the threshold into our pre-foreclosure home.
I remember the realtor holding his breath when I came across the dead mouse laying on his back on the concrete floor. The house had that Brady Bunch feel. Drop ceilings, popcorn ceilings and wood paneling would be our view for the first few years. We kept the popcorn ceiling. Some things you grow to love. I regret covering the terrazzo floors now. I couldn’t appreciate the beauty of speckles then. Drat!
Hurricane Wilma blew our patio away three years in. Our guest bathroom is the last space to go through my HGTV-ish shenanigans. Every summer was a project. My home office is my personal pride and joy. All me! Home Depot is my spot! I miss the smell of sawdust and sound of tools. Being the daughter of a construction worker had its perks. I discovered my personal style during those years of remodeling. I didn’t want shiny. I didn’t want modern. I certainly didn’t want bric-a-brac. I liked what I liked. And. I. Got. What. I. Liked. Much to my hubby’s chagrin.
Now we are entering that season where things need to be repainted, replaced, or removed. Yet another one of life’s reminders that things don’t stay young and fresh forever. There’s going to always be room for a do-over, a makeover, a scrap this and try it over.
We were like nervous kids signing all those documents that Halloween Night. Our younger selves excited about this new adventure we were on together. Taking another swipe at this “American Dream” thing. Now our seasoned souls sit back and bask in this achievement of coming to not just a house–but a home.
The AC unit has lasted another South Florida summer! It’s the smallest things.