My husband has been working tirelessly to fix things and connect things and get our house to feel like a home. He’s very handy, and for that I am truly grateful. But this passion for putting everything right is something I haven’t seen before.
Last night, as we relaxed in our cozy room, he admitted that owning this house has inspired him to want everything to be just right. You see, he moved into the last house when we got married – but I owned it. It was always my house, not ours, and he melded into what was already there, eking out corners and shelves for himself, but really trying to fit in and around what already had its place.
This house is ours together, through and through.
He was practically beaming as he told me how he felt about looking at every inch of this place and making sure it ran smoothly. When I said one plank of the wood floor upstairs was sort of rough, he jumped to say, “Oh, that’s easy – I’ll just do some sanding.” Um, easy? Thank you God for giving me such an industrious husband.
But having your name on the deed and title make a huge difference too.
The place to call home is truly in every fiber of your being is the place you start from each day and come back to each night. It’s the embrace of the structure that takes you in and makes you feel like everything is going to be just fine.
This morning, I dropped the kids at school and even though I have a lovely office with a smiling staff, I returned home to work a little before setting out for the day.
I just love how the sunrise comes through the angelic curtains in my living room, shining golden light through sheer fabric to bounce off the ocean-colored walls. I love the copper kitchen table, where I had my coffee this morning, with my children all around me in the cozy nook.
I love that everything gleams with light and brightness, and that all the little corners are cozy and inviting. I just want to be home.
As we were going through the frenzy of preparing to move, of finalizing the mortgage documents, of boxing and sorting and throwing things away, Dan kept saying, over and over again, “We’re just going to want to be home more. We’ll cook more. We’ll plant a garden. I can’t wait to be in the yard this summer.”
We talked about making condiments from scratch and sipping wine, or coffee, on the balcony outside our bedroom. We talked about slowing down and taking heart in our new home.
“We’re just going to want to be home more,” he kept saying.
And he was right.