Everyday, I am grateful to have a home.
"Home" used to be the house I would arrive to everyday and know my family would warmly greet me (or tell me to "stop slamming the door!") when I arrived. When Steven and I were dating, I knew I wanted to have a home with him someday because I never loved life more or felt more secure than when I was with him. Then we got married, and moved 3 times in our first 15 months of marriage.
Talk about shaking up the definition of home.
I loved our first apartment- a 700 square foot place that has so many good memories, but we knew from the outset that it wasn't permanent. We moved to Pittsburgh seven months later, and although I loved it dearly, I was never settled and felt pretty home-less. I was going in between two places, both of which could not have been better for the emotional support I needed, but there was no place I could plant my feet and know I would be able to see Steven everyday, which was suddenly reminiscent of our dating years (except it was "short distance" as opposed to long, and that was a weird adjustment since we were married...)
While in Pittsburgh, we dedicated a lot of our time to finding a somewhat permanent home back in Arlington. For months we number-crunched, prayed, looked at listings, drove miles back and forth, and then finally, we found it: our first home.
Sitting in the shire of Shirlington, it's a bit of an ugly duckling to be sure, but it is perfect in everyway. The kitchen appliances from 1981, the wallpaper (OH, the wallpaper!), the mirror that takes up the entire wall in the bathroom- none of it matters, because for the first time in my married life, we are settled, in our place that we own, and I get to see Steven everyday.
In our own home.
