For twenty years, this house has been ours. Not just a place to live, but a backdrop for all the messy, beautiful chapters... birthday candles, slammed doors, spaghetti nights, and quiet Sunday mornings.
When we first moved in, everything felt fresh. The hardwood gleamed. The garden behaved. There was a room for each child and just enough chaos to make it feel alive.
Now the rooms echo a little more. The garden’s gone a bit wild. The paint is chipped, the floorboards creak, and the dishwasher sounds vaguely haunted.
But here’s the thing... so do I.
Lately, I’ve been seeing this house through new eyes. Not as something to maintain, but something to care for. To thank. To bring back to life, little by little. I'll start small: a new doormat, a coat of paint on the front door, a few fresh plants on the porch. Nothing fancy. Just gestures of love.
And while I work I'll remember... The first snowfalls and sledding down the back hill. The piano recitals in the living room. The late-night talks at the kitchen counter. The school mornings that always felt five minutes too short.
This old house and I... we’ve both seen better days. But we’ve also seen a lot of good ones. And we’re not done yet.
We’re just beginning a new chapter. Slower, softer, and in some ways, sweeter.
Worn? Yes. Weathered? Absolutely.
But far from finished.