|Not my actual house.|
In honor of National Tell a Story Day, I want to tell you a little story about my house. A house that I both hate and love, but mostly hate.
It all started back in the spring of 2008. Hubs and I were given a deadline to move out of our former place, so we began the home search process, neither of us knowing what the heck we were doing. Plus, I was pregnant with our first child. We looked at several different homes and I wasn't terribly thrilled with any of them (not to mention our realtor was a joy *SARCASM*).
Then, there was a home that needed a little bit of work, but not much, that we really liked. It had a big fenced back yard, and detached 2 car garage, and a really nice living room area. We told our realtor that we liked that house and she got back to us and basically said that someone else had already put an offer in, so we should look at something else (we didn't know better at the time, but clearly, I had several reasons to want to punch that woman).
We toured our current home and I wasn't all that impressed. It was a foreclosure and the previous owners hadn't done much upkeep, which was going to require tens of thousands of dollars to correct. It had a tiny backyard that was overrun with weeds and poison oak and no fence. It had a master bathroom with a giant tub and no shower, which meant that we would have to use the shower in the hallway bathroom. There was carpet in several of the bathrooms (don't get me started on that disgusting mess). And WHITE carpet in the living room, wtf?! The previous owners apparently left in a hurry and left behind giant piles of trash in the house and garage. They took the appliances though, so we had to get all new ones. The siding needed to be replaced. The house is a split level, so I'm always going up and down stairs to put groceries away or do the laundry. All of the closets are tiny. It has vaulted ceilings, which is pretty I'll admit, until 5 minutes later when you remember how much electricity (cha-ching) it takes to heat or cool this place. I'm sure there's other things that I'm leaving out, I just can't think of them all.
Needless to say, I wanted no part of it. I told my hubby repeatedly that we should keep looking because the house would require too much work, time, and money. But he kept telling me how much of an investment it would be, and that once we fixed it up, it would be great, blah blah frickin' blah.
So, we put in an offer. Now, you'd think that was the end of the story. Nope, you'd be wrong. A foreclosure has it own set of rules. We were in foreclosure limbo for months, dealing with banks and middle men and triple the paperwork. We finally closed on the house in the fall (we started the process in the spring, mind you) and began the long, "fun" process of moving in and getting everything fixed. Sort of. We had a days-old newborn, so we were sleep deprived and delirious and tried to do what we could to make it livable.
We've now been here over 7 years and the house still hasn't grown on me. I mean, we've made so many memories here for sure. And I'm a bonafide homebody, so I spend 99% of my time here. But if I could do it all over again, and please understand that I'm grateful to have a roof over our heads, I certainly wouldn't pick this house.
I'm not one of those people who necessarily equates "home" to a place. Home is your family. Home is being with the people you love, regardless of where you physically reside. Home is love and light and laughter.
Home can be anywhere, as long as your heart is full.