I am completely and utterly obsessed with wanting to move. We’ve been slumming it for 4 years in a 1950’s ranch, which at first felt like our salvation. Never mind the nicotine dripping down the walls, the absence of enough bedrooms, the garage packed full of our landlord’s items, we felt lucky to find a house we could afford in the expensive suburb where Christian’s kids lived with their mom.
I was all sorts of gleeful when we moved away from this suburb the first time; it felt like starting over as a whole new family instead of hanging around where Christian lived his first married life. I let myself make friends and I started blogging, and the house we lived in suited us. It was open and bright, and we were putting our creative touches on it. Christian had blasted through a closet to install some big orange lockers into our kitchen.
We’d probably still be there if we hadn’t been fucked by the economy and lost our jobs. (How silly of us to be working at the same place.) Inevitably we crawled back to Elmhurst, renting some frat boys’ hand-me-down house (really), for a year until that landlord decided to put it on the market. We were adept at ignoring our emotions and soldiering on at that point, so I found us this house on Craigslist, and we did what we could to ready it for our healing process.
The process of healing obviously lasted a few years, I’d say up until about now. We had a wee baby (Beckett), Christian was struggling to get a new business off the ground, I had been fired from a brand-new job before even starting when they heard I was pregnant. We were borrowing heavily from Christian’s parents. Christian’s ex-wife was pissed that we weren’t paying her lots of cash.
I’m babbling here a bit, but it feels cathartic, so bear with me. I’ll get to the positive part now: why I want a house.
A big part of why Christian and I fit so well is that we both live and breathe creativity- it’s what keeps us going, it’s how we think, how we do everything. We are insanely visual and our brains are constantly spinning with new ideas. Our first 6 years of marriage were spent getting to know each other, drinking Manhattans and doing shit to our house. We did the coolest of shit to our house. We installed our own copper countertops in the kitchen, luscious mini tiles for the kitchen backsplash, and painted and repainted walls until they were perfect.
The first week that we had Fen home from the hospital, I sat on the couch nursing and being freaked out, and Christian made an entire wall of built-in shelves. Over the course of 6 years, there was an addition to the deck, a platform bed, built-in kitchen shelves, a kitchen table made from reclaimed church pew wood, and more. I’m forgetting things.
I yearn for that now, of course. When you rent, your whole life feels temporary; you don’t really have any claim to what is surrounding you, and not even Apartment Therapy can change that.
I cannot wait to have another house to tweak and change and color and shape. We have both come out the other end, all our wounds have been licked and we are both strong and ready to face the world again. Our fingers are itchy. Our brains are itchy. We’re ready to collaborate again; my Pinterest boards call to me.
So! we’ve taken the first step and started to internet-browse- Christian even connected to a realtor he was eavesdropping on. You can bet I’ll keep you updated every step of the way, like it or not.
In the meantime, here is a picture of a goat.