House Loving

When we first moved into our house, I really didn’t like it.  People would admire and tell me how lovely it was, how lucky we were, and I would do that half-hearted fake smile while thinking about all the things I didn’t like about it.

But mostly, it wasn’t that it isn’t a nice house.  It was that I had some things I needed to work on, some things I needed to see.  I’m so glad that as human beings we have the capacity to change our minds!

Because now I love my house.  Really, truly love it.  I love the house, the neighbourhood, and more.  I am glad we had to move.

There are a few minor things I don’t like still.  And one major.  The extra cost.  But I’m convincing myself that it is worth the cost for us to have a dry, insulated house.  It is worth the cost to have my beloved walkway nearby still (even if I don’t use it nearly enough these days for either my legs or my soul!).  It is worth having an actual ‘house’ with a yard, a garage, and a deck.  It’s a good experience for us, learning to live like this, after having been in a unit for several years.  Kind of the next step in being ready for our own house again one day, I like to think.  Here we have more gardens to care for, and more lawns, cobbles that need weed spray, more areas inside that need dusting and vacuuming and general keeping-cleaning.  But more space to move around.

I think sometimes it takes time for us to adjust to even the best changes, and especially those that we didn’t necessarily choose for ourselves.  I didn’t really choose to move.  It was thrust upon me.  Even though I knew it would almost certainly be better for us to be someplace drier.  So my feelings of ill-will towards this house were largely founded on my feelings of grief in leaving our old place.  I loved that little place, even though we were renting it, it was ours for three years.  It was where Munchkin first came home, it was where I unpacked our boxes after years of having our things stored.  It was peacefully quiet, tucked away in a secluded corner.  It was home.

But now this is home.  Once I got used to the idea, I really liked it.  It just took time, and I needed to be allowed that time.  I needed time to unpack my boxes, to hang my pictures, to rant at the extra costs of moving and stress over finding a higher bond, to clean and to tidy and to sort my stuff and my attitude.  I needed time to feel at home, to feel like I belonged rather than like I was living in someone else’s house.  It took a few months.  Going straight out onto teaching placement a just a week and a bit after we moved didn’t help.  The house was chaotic for several months.  But gradually, I got through the sorting and as I found a new ‘home’ for each thing, I found myself finding a home for me too.

 

We’ve since moved things around a few times.  We’ve reshuffled, and resorted, and rearranged a little.  There’s a sandpit on the deck.  And a bigger guinea pig hutch out in the yard.  I’m waiting for lobelias and sweet William to flower in the garden.  I only occasionally bump my head on the sloped ceilings upstairs and don’t immediately cry, wishing we were not here!  We’ve got door stops in front of the doors that keep opening, and the ones that keep closing.  I’ve found homes for all my African Violets.  The kitchen stuff all fits in the kitchen.  This is home.  And I’m happy to be here.

Amy