BEFORE
The year was 1981.
I just had my second child.
And when I say "just"-
I mean Becca was only two days old.
It was then that my husband
bought our very first house.
See it?
Yes- it is true.
The picture above is really the actual thing.
I don't know if I was suffering from
post-postpartum retardation-
or what-
but I was excited as heck.
For some reason,
I wasn't scared, embarrassed,
or even horrified by my new house.
I couldn't wait to start tearing off the wallpaper,
ripping out the floors,
and putting gobs of sweat and tears
into the old farm house.
I have always known that
when my husband
sets his mind on something-
he follows through.
And I knew he wouldn't let
me and the kids move into
some crappy, run down fire hazard.
I just felt lucky to have something
we could call our very own.
We had rented for five years
and it was time to make a move.
Face it- we didn't have much.
We bought some carpet from a classified ad,
found a claw foot tub at a yard sale,
made kitchen cabinets out of barn wood,
and I strung up curtains with old twine.
The place didn't have a bathroom,
so my husband made one out of the porch.
It was the coolest room ever.
(Back then.)
I papered it in green fern wallpaper
(which was very groovy at the time),
and we bought 60 old mirrors from
a hotel that was being demolished in town
and glued them to one entire wall.
With my claw foot tub
and some used curtains,
it became my favorite room.
We have fixed up seven places
since we were married
and I now have a nice home
of which I am proud-
(but still very humble).
I think it all comes down to this:
It doesn't matter where you live.
As long as it is clean
and full of love
and feels like home.
It was wonderful back then
to be able to stand back
and be proud of what we had accomplished.
There truly is no place like home.
AFTER
(Our first house and my first daughter Erin. She is 30 years old now.)
