Dear little house where we live,
I've been feeling discontented about you--wanting newer carpet, a bonus room, a bigger back yard--so I thought I'd write you a letter to tell you (and remind me) why I love you.
I love the way the afternoon sunshine pours through your master bedroom windows between three and five. It makes for a warm and lovely napping environment.
I love the french doors in your office and the three giant windows in the family room that let cheerful light in all the day long.
I love your ample cupboard and counter top space. It's a pleasure to cook in your comfortable kitchen. And eat in the cozy quarters of the breakfast area.
I love the strong, penetrating pressure of the shower in your hall bath. It makes up for the pathetic dribble that drips from the faucet in your master bath. Are you clogged, little house? Is it a problem Mr. Nate can fix, or will it require a plumber?
I love the crisp white blinds that adorn the windows in the master bedroom. I'm sure you love them, too. You'd like them on all your windows, wouldn't you? I would too. I'm saving for such adornments, please be patient.
I love that you were all wired and ready for FIOS internet and that it has never, not once, gone down on us.
I love the wisteria that grows along your back fence and begs the doves to build nests in its leafy foliage.
And even while I hate it, I love the sand-box sized back yard that allows room enough for a few tomato plants, but doesn't require extensive maintenance.
I love your proximity to three playgrounds. And the miles of walking trails that wind through the woods and meander beside the creek. (If only there weren't so many mosquitoes...but you can't help that.)
Your location is supreme--just walking distance away from so many of my dearest friends. I'm pretty sure we chose you so I could be here with all these wonderful women who have stretched out their arms and opened up their hearts to make a comfy spot for me.
I love that you're the first piece of property we've ever owned -- that two summers' worth of door to door sales funded your down payment. That we made all our "first-time-buyer" mistakes on your purchase -- rushing in, getting emotionally attached, paying too much-- kind of like learning how to parent on your first child. Thanks for helping us learn what we like and dislike about floor plans from living in yours. And for showing us that life with a wet-bar isn't so bad. Thanks for teaching us how to repair broken pipes, replace door handles, repair toilets, install tile and stain cabinets.
I love that you've kept us warm and dry and safe through storms that made us want to hide under our beds. I love that we feel physically and emotionally safe under your roof and within your walls. I love that our laughter is absorbed in your walls, the ones that we've stayed up late into the night painting (and re-painting). That our tears fall into your dingy, but adequate carpet. That our bed time secrets get filtered through our pillows and then flutter away into some little corner of your square footage, for quiet keeping.
Adoringly yours (most of the time,)
p.s. I scribbled this letter out on Thursday night, as I want some of the details about life in this little house to be a part of our family record, (and because I needed a nudge towards gratitude,) and wouldn't you know I'd tempt fate to deal us a dreadful domestic hand. Friday afternoon I came home, wearied from a morning of appointments and errands, to find hundreds of tiny winged insects pouring out of the wall near my back door. Long story short: we're going to be one thousand dollars poorer after we undergo Termite Treatment Wednesday afternoon. So, it's a good thing I wrote this charming little letter on Thursday night, because now that the termites have revealed themselves I'm having a hard time coming up with one rosy thought about home ownership.