The other day as my husband walked into our home, arms full of dog and cat food, Joe from the market across the street, yelled to Dave. "Why don't you get rid of those guys and just have kids?!" Welcome to our neighborhood. Two years ago today we closed on our first home. A quirky, uniquely built cape on the top of a hill. We never dreamed of some of the things that have happened in the last two years in this home. Most recently the welcoming of a pup named Maya. Last year I wrote about my thoughts of living in our home after one year. And while perhaps the rose colored glasses have turned more into a normal shade of reality, I can say that we still love our home, our neighborhood, quirks and all.
Where else could I run across the street to Jim's Market when the thunderstorms are blaring up above (did you know I'm petrified of thunderstorms?) Where else could Maya help us meet our neighborhood of dog lovers? Where else could I train for running on some of the steepest hills in Boston? Where else would Joe make fun of me for the rest of the year for being scared of thunderstorms? Maybe we could do all these things other places. But they wouldn't mean as much. These experiences, these memories are what make our house, a home. A place where we can come at the end of the day and know that we can leave the stress at the door. A place where people are welcomed and loved. A place where Dave and I can grow together and fall more deeply in love. We may not be here forever, but this home will always hold a special place in the story of our life. And I just know, that someday when we move, a piece of our heart will be left with this house.
I had grand plans of walking around the house with my 5d and making "real" photos of our home. Instead my trusty point and shoot will have to do. Welcome to our humble home. A place of love, joy and puppies.
