One year ago I moved from a rented apartment to our first house. It was a hectic, bitter-sweet Saturday. I was anxious about the move, getting into our house, making sure the dogs wouldn't be overly stressed and worried about life in a new place.
Things took a turn to the worse when I got into the house and realised all the lighting fixtures were gone and the water was shut. All of a sudden, moving involved an urgent trip to the hardware store and the help of the subdivision handy-man in order to get the water running, plus the help of my brother and dad to get us a working shower and toilet seat. To top it all off, my nephew (and godson!)'s baby shower was scheduled for the same day, and I felt guilty for not making it.
When I think about my plans and dreams upon entering the house, I cannot help but smile about the big gap in between. I assumed the walls would be painted and all our pictures framed and hung. I was sure my craft-room would be a Pinterest-worthy room. I obsessed about my laundry room and how amazing it would look. And my backyard? Don't even get me started on the plans I had for that. I also lived through more arguments, tears and heartaches in this year than I could have planned for.
However, I also lived better moments I could dream of. I had my first Christmas dinner at home. We adopted another dog. I changed jobs. I found a family. I changed my living room setting a gazillion times. And if I had lived a live as I planned, it wouldn't be as good.
So here's to a messy house. To loud dogs and to and empty pantry. To makeshift furniture and untested Pinterest boards. And to the years to come in this wonderful house.
