Trading a house for a home

If you're not familiar with my adventures in restoration, read my love story post first. Actually, even if you ARE familiar... go re-read that post. It's good context! (I'll wait...)

If you're the kind of person who moves into a house and never changes the paint colors, this post won't resonate with you.  But for the rest of you, you know how it feels to put a little bit of your style into a house. Maybe you've stripped wallpaper or pulled back the carpet to find hardwood floors hidden underneath. A few hours worth of work and you've fixed, cleaned or replaced something. You've made it better.

I bought my last house when I was a young, optimistic, single woman. Over the next four years, I would repair or replace every single wall, ceiling, floor, door, light fixture, electrical outlet and piece of trim. That's no exaggeration.  I gutted all 4 bathrooms and rebuilt them from the floor up.  I gutted and rebuilt the kitchen. I put in all new lighting, floors and major systems (HVAC, roof, electrical panel). I took down walls, fixed beams, and sistered joists. I had help from friends, family, and a few contractors. All told, I spent 208 weekends working on that house.

I saved the place.   And then, not long after I finished, I decided to sell it.

I think a decaying house is like a bad marriage. It takes years of neglect to create the problems, but with hard work, you can almost always fix it. And I believe in fixing what can be fixed. Saving what other people deem "a lost cause."  But, imagine spending 4 years in couples counseling.  After 4 years of hard work, you wake up one morning, look at your partner and realize you have the exact marriage you've always wanted. It's perfect and you're content.  And then you ask for a divorce.

That's exactly what I did.  I sold my house in January of 2014. I just went back for the first time a few weeks ago. Driving up to the house, I felt so many emotions.  The new owners painted the exterior, replacing the sunny yellow with a shade of grayish blue. I'd like to tell you the color is all wrong, but in fact, it looks lovely.  Other than that, it's exactly the same as the day I left.  But, what was once the "love of my life" was now, just a house.

That's the lesson, I think.  A house is just a house. It's 4 walls and a roof.  It keeps you warm and safe and dry. I realize now that after 4 years of restoring that house, I loved it, but it still wasn't a home.  A house becomes a home when it's filled with love, family, memories, laughter, tears, fights, make-ups, dreams and hopes. A home holds all the beauty and love and heart that you bring to it.

After I sold my house, I traveled Europe for 3.5 months. Read about my European meltdown here. And then moved back to Michigan.  I fell madly in love and my life changed forever.   We moved to Chicago and we've created a home filled with laughter, the pitter-patter of little feet, with squeals of joy, family dinners, fights, make-ups, forts, bedtime stories and long discussions about our future.

Rich and I will buy a house soon enough, a place for our family to put down roots. But now I know...anywhere I go with these boys, I'm home.