Thirteen years ago today we put an offer on this beauty. I know. She’s gorgeous isn’t she?
What can I say? We were young, in love, ready for an adventure, and more than a little crazy.
But despite those early years of near-camp like existence, the hours and hours of back breaking work, and the general mess that we endured, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Somewhere along the way we fell in love. Not that early kind of infatuation that made a complete dump look like our dream house, but the kind of love that comes with building and planning, saving and scraping, and working and working and working. The kind of love that fills these walls with laughter and play and quiet and escape. The kind of love that I feel when I sit in the girls’ rooms and look around as they play, or when I climb into bed, warm from the ice hitting the windows on either side of me. The kind of love that I feel when I’m washing the paintbrush and then standing back to look at a night’s work, or curled up next to my love, watching a movie, or when I climb those stairs and look at sleeping girls in their attic retreat.
I’ve been digging through the archives (even pre-digital) of the early days in the house, and that’s always a lot of fun. We do up birthdays pretty big in our house, and maybe it’s time for a little birthday for the house. Lucky thirteen. She was always gorgeous to us.