I’ve lived in the same house my entire life. Well, at least until last week.
My home is no longer 10 minutes outside of Detroit, with the pink striped bedroom that I helped ‘design’ when I was 7, and the garden Joe and I started at the beginning of summer that is producing more cucumbers than we know what to do with.
Home now means our cute little house in Kalamazoo, still in dire need of a lot of furniture (we’re working on it!) – not the place I grew up in, with my parents that welcomed Joe in to our family with open arms, treating him as a son-in-law long before it was official. We both are constantly catching ourselves talking about home when referring to Grosse Pointe, subsequently wondering if and when Kalamazoo will actually feel like our home…like we’re not just visiting for a few years before making our way back to the ‘bubble’ that so many of my high school classmates are doing their best to escape.
We hung our first thing on one of our walls last night, a framed photo from one of Joe’s groomsmen, and amusingly, despite still lacking almost all of our real furniture, hanging that picture felt like the first step in making our new house feel like home. Hopefully as we replace the piece of glass on top of a plastic tote with a real coffee table, and put the pile of stuff currently in the corner into the credenza that is on its way from Zulily (oh, Zulily. Thats another blog post for another time), and have a couch to cuddle up on while we binge watch American Horror Story, we’ll feel like this is a home we belong in, sooner rather than later.
(I’m sure unpacking my clothes will help too.)