a very, very, very fine house

The really frustrating thing about selling a house is that you work off your behind to get it ready for the market and accomplish all of the things on your “someday we’ll…..” list. Our house was a fixer-upper when we bought it. We did a lot of fixin’ in our time living there, but we really kicked it into high gear when we found out we were moving in November. It was strange to see the house transforming to what we’d imagined it could be when we first moved in five years ago.

The kitchen with newly painted cabinets, new silver pulls, new light fixtures, and some of my favorite tile ever:
The Master Bathroom. Everything is new (even the walls) except the shower and the toilet. We bought that vanity and faucet for ourselves with the intention of installing it in that house and living there for a long time. It’s beautiful. And I brushed my teeth in that sink once.

The Living Room and Dining Room with new recessed lighting, new floor boards, newly painted fireplace, and new front door:

Our back patio. We saved and saved for that stone patio, and I loved it with all of my heart.

Our modest little North Carolina house:

In many ways, I was not a fan of that house. The guy who built it took many shortcuts that we had to fix,we found all manner of weirdness buried underneath the landscaping, and the bathrooms were the bane of my existence. It’s on a pretty busy road, and I never quite felt safe running on that road or letting Bug run around much in the yard. All of that hard work we put into fixin’ up our fixer upper (with the help of many, many sweet and gracious friends) paid off though – it sold in only six weeks!

We were insanely relieved when the house closed and celebrated all weekend. The next Monday though, I realized that there was a new person living inside that house. The buyer was probably unpacking her boxes and trying to decide where to put her silverware. She doesn’t know that my husband painstakingly painted those cabinets white and replaced the pulls one week while I was out of town as a surprise. As she’s setting up her office or guest bedroom, she has no idea that I prayed almost every day of my pregnancy in Bug’s room. She’s oblivious to the tears I cried in fear of pre-term labor and the nights I spent exhausted, rocking him in a red rocking chair in that room. The buyer remains unaware that Bug took his first steps in that living room, that I labored in that house twice and twice brought newborn baby boys in through that garage door and said, “Welcome home, sweet boy.” She doesn’t know the conversations I had with Small Group Girls in that living room or the dinners shared with friends, and she doesn’t have a clue that I found out I was pregnant with Bug in the guest bathroom and with Bear in the master bathroom. I told my husband that I was pregnant for the first time in the living room, and she doesn’t know that we both fell to our knees and praised God. As she sets up her dining room table, she doesn’t know that was where I told him I was pregnant the second time, and she has no idea that the carpet in that spot holds my tears of fear.

That house holds a treasure of tears, smiles, fights, giggles, sorrows, conversations, and joys. Our lives changed forever in that house as we transitioned from newly weds to a family of four. I know the new owner has no idea the history in those walls, and it’s probably better that way. I hated that house with its ghetto trim, old school windows, and weirdly wallpapered bathrooms. But it was our house, and we made it our home. A very, very, very fine house indeed.


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