Today is our houseiversary. One year ago today, My Guy and I took on our 1938 stone cottage.
Sounds quaint, right? Except that it was a repo. That had been owned by a druggie who trashed it before losing it to the bank.
Now, we live in a historic district. But our history with this house includes finding a petrified bowl of rice and beans in a bathroom drawer. And causing water damage by assuming the water line to the where a fridge once stood was, you know, actually turned off by the former owner. Ha ha ha!
We’ve cleaned like we’ve never cleaned before. We’ve painted pretty much every surface. And yet, I still feel the need to apologize to our neighbors for the state of our house, like we’re causing home values to go down. Some of our shrubs are dead. We still don’t have use of the second floor.
But I stinkin’ love this house.
It’s going to be our home for a very long time. I see the potential here, and I’m thankful that this house feels like our home. Even the stuff that I thought would drive me crazy – like the broken granite counter top – feels pretty OK. This house is teaching me that life doesn’t have to be perfect to be … perfect.