Moving Home

A house is concrete, wood, and windows. And yet there is so much sentiment tied with a home. Fourteen months ago K and I purchased our first home two days before our wedding. We quickly moved in and set up what we could. I remember my best friend A and her husband flooded our home with candle light, roses, and rose peddles. It looked like the movies and must have cost them a fortune. When we followed the path through the house to our bedroom, on our bed was the quilt all of our guests signed at our wedding as they prayed over our union. There was champagne and chocolate and strawberries. It was our first night together as man and wife in our own home, in our own bed. It is a night I will never forget.

Over the last fourteen months we painted every room. We replaced the roof, stained the deck, planted grass, tulips, and lilies. We picked out rugs and pictures, and my favorite thing, our fireplace. I had never been sick before we moved in that house. K had never even seen me sneeze. To be so ill not long after moving into the house was a shock to both of us. Yet, it reassured me I married the right man. The first round of sinus infections and ear ached lasted over eight weeks. Rounds of antibiotics, becoming allergic to new antibiotics and the cycle that went with that was tiring. Our vows were put to the test. He tucked me in afterwork, picked up the slack around the house. He was wonderful. Winter came, as did drier weather, and now the roles reversed.

K was in pain. He didn't want to go to the doctor but I made him. A hernia. He could leave it, but it would only get worse or he could have it operated on. He wasn't prepared to be put on a 10lb weight lifting restriction for a month. To have to stay home over a week and have to work from home. To be unable to wear pants for 10 days because they cut into his staples. Once in bed at night it hurt for him to move and I had to get up all night long and replace his ice packs and give him his pain medicine. Our marriage grew stronger. Our love grew deeper as we cared for each other and made these memories. I couldn't imagine anyone I'd rather go through these trials with.

The memories weren't all dramatic. I hosted my first family Thanksgiving with both his family and mine. Oh, how I stressed to make it perfect. K hates cooking, but he helped clean and set up the house just how he knows I like it. Our house was a home. Family was there. I have a tradition that on my nephews birthday they get to pick a night within a week of that day to have a slumber party with me. They all were able to stay at our house this year. Gingerbread houses, making pasta from scratch, movies, crashing on the coach together after a long day at the waterpark. Those are memories we have in this house. Setting up our Christmas Tree, K getting up on a shaky ladder to hang lights because he knew it would make me smile. This was our home.

Once spring came and the humidity was bad. I was sick again. To find out there was mold and I was allergic to our home was difficult on both of us. To move in with my amazing parents was a gift, but we lacked privacy. We lacked because their home wasn't ours. We couldn't invite people over, my parents would have allowed it, but it wouldn't have been the same. We couldn't chase each other around the house naked and make love on the living room floor. But the wait is over. We have put sweat and tears into gutting, treating, and repairing most of the basement (we are waiting to redo the guest bedroom and bathroom downstairs for awhile to save up for that, so that is simply treated concrete). Buckets of concrete were hauled out after we jackhammered up the floor. We brought in bucket after bucket of rock, and bucket after bucket of new concrete. We treated the concrete. And treated it again to be sure. We had air vents cleaned and air purification systems installed. Finally tonight we get to crawl into the same bed where we consummated our marriage. We get to lay as husband in wife in the house with so many first and wonderful memories.

It feels like a miracle to finally be moving back into this specific house of concrete, wood, and windows. Because this is the house that God gave K and I to turn into a home, and we have done just that.