We loved here.

Our home.  A safe haven for our family.

We first arrived on it's doorstep with one toddler in tow and have since carried three more babes across the threshold to call this place home.  In these past five years we've lived every inch of it.

It's where our love has taken root.  We've celebrated life and victories, and we've poured out grief and acknowledged defeats, all with these sturdy walls surrounding us.   Our cozy home on the edge of Brookside, surrounded by community and crooked sidewalks, we have loved here.

The kisses I've given at the bottom of the stairs, the stories I've read under the heavy covers of our bed, the closets we've huddled in during hide-and-seek, our sidewalk covered with chalk many times over.  The parties we've thrown.  Little ones learning to walk and then learning to ride a bike without training wheels.  This house has been the backdrop for all of these memories.  These are things that breathe life into a home.

I've always felt that houses have "personalities".  Ours is jolly and welcoming and forgiving of the stress we impart on it daily.  Our house seems to say, "what's one more!?" with regard to children and guests, and "I don't mind the noise...or the crayon on my walls."  A comfortable and easy going presence that wraps its arms around us no matter what the day brings.

One of the {many} reasons I love old houses is the simple thought of "if these walls could talk".  How many babies were soothed, how many owies were kissed, how many tickles and cuddles and pep talks were given within these walls - by me and others -  in it's long life.   Not every day is a happy day.  Some days there are feelings of frustration that dampen the feelings of love.  Miscommunication and tears.  So many stories and we are only 5 years - a mere flash - of it's nearly 100 year history.

I knew the moment that we walked into this house that it was ours.  I could feel the love that had been absorbed in its walls after a century of existence.  It felt right.  Perfectly right for us.

One of my happiest memories is when Billy and I were sitting in our "new" bedroom, surrounded by boxes and eating Chinese food to satisfy my cravings (I was 6 months pregnant with Sully).  We had no cable or assembled furniture, but I just remember telling Billy, "I am so, so happy right now."   We were home.

Our house is old.  Our house is wise.  It has been loved well.  And it loves us well in return.

We'll continue adding to it's legacy.

I dug deep into the vault of grainy iPhone pics for some of these :)

 

 It's crazy thinking back to how stressed and desperate I was when I wrote this post.  It seems like a million years ago now...
http://murraypartyofthree.blogspot.com/2011/03/home.html