This Old House

My dear husband said something yesterday that hit me like a slap in the face: "Can you believe that in one week this place will be empty?"

I wasn't sure whether to cheer, hug the walls and cry, start hyperventilating, or just swallow the large lump of panic constricting my airway and sink further in to my cozy cloud of self-denial. (You can probably tell by the fact that I am lounging around writing this that I chose option d).

A few hefty sighs later, I don't think I've made much progress in the move-my-family-across-the-country department, but I've decided that maybe I'm not as good with change as I thought, and I need to spend some time processing it all (time I don't really have, mind you). This post, therefore, shall serve as my guilty indulgence.

Home Sweet Home!

So riding on the coat tails of my little revelation last week about love and beauty, and in concert with the adage that "love makes a house a home," I will regale you with the fairy tale of how a tired little house on a small plot of land became the regal kingdom and shining castle of a desperate young couple and their miniature horse giant dog. So grab some tissues and buckle in, because my emotions are running full steam ahead.


When we first moved to Fort Drum in 2007, the housing situation was abominable, to put it lightly. The wait for on-post housing was 12 months on the short end, but newlyweds like us with a 120 pound dog weren't exactly high priority. So my prince charming did what any self-respecting new husband would do: he grabbed the first rental he could find that would accept our giant dog so we'd at least have a roof over our heads after the wedding and honeymoon. It was a quaint little place on a busy road with no fence, mold in the basement, a sulfur-water well, and chipmunks running through the walls (and possibly dying in them? Sure smelled like it a few times). So upon the discovery that our little clan was growing, we thought it best to bring a baby home to something slightly less reprehensible, and thus embarked on another house-hunting adventure.

The thing about Northern New York is that most of the houses were built in the 1890s or 1900s. So finding a place in better shape than our rental was a challenge. Thankfully, on the way home from work one day we stumbled upon a quiet neighborhood only a mile from Fort Drum with a not-that-old house (and a huge fenced-in yard!) for sale. It wasn't love at first sight, but it was certainly a sight for sore eyes, and less than a month later we were giddy new homeowners.

Paneling galore...

The fact that it was built in 1973 and not 1900 was a huge relief, but it was clear that the previous homeowners had intended to leave the '70s. Floor-to-ceiling wood paneling, pink semi-shag carpet, cream kitchen appliances, and psychedelic apple wallpaper (or maybe they were cherries, never quite figured that one out) were just a few of its fabulous features. Oh and I almost forgot the 3D-ish geometric pattern on the linoleum. So we set to work with the improvements, becoming best friends with everyone at Lowe's, and somewhere along the way, this old house became our home.

A New Deck!

The Jungle in the making

We decorated the baby room in a jungle theme, and it was known as "the Jungle" ever after. We tore down some paneling one weekend, then brought home a beautiful baby girl the next. We saw first steps and heard first words, put up baby gates and child locks and learned to baby proof the hard way. We celebrated our first holidays together as a family, said painful goodbyes when the separations of deployments and training came all too quickly, and rejoiced in thanksgiving when we were finally reunited again. We grew together as husband and wife and grew bigger as a family. We jumped up and down as we said good riddance to our retro kitchen, then held each other as we said goodbye to two tiny loves and prayed desperately for the chance to love another. We landscaped, built a deck (okay, Peter did), and built friendships. We survived snow thunderstorms (no kidding), sleet, rain, freezing rain, ice, more snow, more ice, and more freezing rain. We dreamed of the future, remembered the past, laughed, cried, loved, and thanked God for our miracles. And in two weeks we are leaving. For good.

Oh, if these walls--these paneled, retro walls--could talk.

Goodbye, paneling!!!

The psychedelic apple kitchen
and the happy chef
(Yes, it was Halloween)

New kitchen!

Admittedly, I've been waiting five years (arguably more) for the day we could say goodbye to this house and the Army and say hello to our "real" life. But as much as I'm excited to up-size since we are outgrowing the place, I almost feel like I'm betraying an old friend as I stare at the "For Sale" sign in the front yard. It just seems too sudden--and too soon--to say goodbye to the place where we started our life together and made so many memories. And I realize now that even though I was waiting to start our "real" life, this has been our life, the good and the bad, for the past five years.

I suppose, though, just like all other change, along with the pain will come growth. Emptying this cramped, cozy home and moving on to a new one is symbolic of the much greater change in our lives, a new stage with so much uncertainty...and so much promise. As we let go of the old we are hopeful for the new...a new home [with walk-in closets!], new friends, new opportunities, and new memories.

So farewell, old house. You've been good to us. I may not like your faux paneling, but I'll always love and miss you.

 Our Home Sweet Home-to-be...in 14 days!