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When we bought our house in 1998, I was pregnant with our second daughter. My husband did much of the searching with our realtor, going to appointments and doing a quick walkthrough. When he deemed that the house met most of our wish list, we would book another visit that included me.
We were able to buy our house because another buyer's financing (or home sale) fell through. Here we were with our 1970s ranch, with a full basement, that featured mauve carpeting, sponge painted walls in every bedroom, a dark bar in the basement, and faux brick in the kitchen.
Oooooh, pretty right? Ugh.
Over the next ten years, we managed to add on a great room with a basement workshop, and we completely remodeled the kitchen. A door was added to our bedroom that connects to our deck. My husband reveled in managing the large construction project alongside the foreman. He built our deck, and we installed hardwood floors together.
Those days of decisions and demolition were lots of work, but they left you feeling satisfied as projects were finished and the house was bright and fresh.
It's now 2022 and that large project has had a few updates - new carpet, new appliances. Some of the cabinets have bumps and bruises, and the whole house needs a paint job.
The brick driveway has sunk due to chipmunks and the weight of our SUVs. The front porch columns are chipped but we can't remove them because the birds already built their yearly nests.
Each weekend I make plans for the next project, but the materials shortages and the difficulty in getting help from contractors has me feeling crabby and discouraged. I know I should appreciate that I have a warm, safe home when others do not. It's just difficult, especially following two years of being home more than away, to look past everything that's in need of repair.
I love our home. I just want to like it more.
