home love

Lately I’ve turned into a hater. I look around our house, still so new to us, yet still so old (and, with age, still so plaster-cracked, and dusty-cornered, and crooked-floored), and I think, “God, there’s so much work to do.” The other day, I told Joe that I wanted to just sell the place and buy something new, a house with fewer projects waiting in the wings, a house that doesn’t beg for renovation projects, new paint, new gutters.

There are a few other homes in Madison that are identical to ours, or close to it. For a while, I fantasized about knocking on their doors, explaining our unique connection (strangers! with identical houses!), and politely asking for a tour. But I couldn’t figure out how to do that without coming across as a little bit whacked. And then I got busy and kind of forgot about it.

Then, this morning, I was sipping chugging my coffee and scrolling through Apartment Therapy, when I saw it: Our House. Or at least, a very close facsimile. The brick is different, the back door’s in a different place, the original fireplace hasn’t been yanked out (and, dream of dreams, they have an actual entry way) — but, the floor plan is essentially identical.

The amount of excitement I felt is almost embarrassing. “This house is beautiful!” I thought, as I examined the pictures. It was cozy, warm, and full of color. It was grown-up. It was a home you wanted to spend time in. Our house can look like that. We keep telling ourselves that home-ownership amounts to an endless to-do list; you are never done. The joy is in the process–I believe this applies to most things. I guess I just needed a nice kick in the pants reminder.