For over a year now, we have owned two houses. I had my townhouse for 5 years, and Ryan had his house. When we were deciding where to live when we got married, we sat down and had a very practical discussion about whose house we would live in. His house has a garage and a bigger backyard, so it seemed to make sense to live there. And so about a year ago we started the process of moving my things into Ryan's house. We moved all of the essentials first: my clothes, Bella's house, the big screen TV. Then slowly, we sifted through what bigger items were at my house we wanted at our house. My couch eventually made it's way over, along with my Elfa shelving unit and sewing essentials. All the while, my house was on the market, just sitting, waiting for the right owner to come along. After about 6 months of just sitting, we found out we were going to have a baby. That put the pressure on a bit. We weren't really happy about paying 2 mortgages all along, but we were OK doing it. But with a baby coming, well, as Ryan put it, that was a real game-changer. Eventually, we found someone who was interested. She loved the house, but wanted to do a lease-purchase. She was motivated to get her daughter into the school system that my house was in, but wasn't quite ready to buy. So we talked about it and negotiated until we finally struck a deal. As of July 1st, she'll move in to start the "lease" phase. So the month of June has been spent cleaning out my house and getting it move-in ready for her. One weekend we packed up the miscellaneous things (pictures on the wall, trinkets, etc.), the next weekend we had movers come move everything into storage, and finally, this weekend we cleaned. After ALL that, we turned the keys over to the proud new owner. I have to say, it was a great feeling knowing that we found someone who loved this house as much as I did. That was what I wanted all along. But at the same time, I found myself more emotional then I ever though I would be to leave a house.
But, this was my first house. MY house. Not an apartment, a HOUSE. I bought it on my own- no co-signer, no help with a down payment. It was all me. I was so proud to have been able to do that on my own. I remember when I first took ownership of the house. That night I went over to see it and walk through it. I was SO excited- I distinctly remember sitting down on the floor of the bedroom, where my bed would eventually go. And after so much excitement, I actually fell asleep on the floor! I felt so silly when I woke up and realized what had happened. But then again, I was in my house. Nobody had to know what happened in my house.
I did eventually move my things in, and I spent a lot of time decorating it just the way I wanted it. I had many memories in that house too. My brother lived with me briefly- about 6 months. It was weird having someone else in my space, but we had fun and just cracked up after work. (We even built an indoor miniature golf course in that house!)
I had friends over to that house. I spent countless hours on the back patio. Grilling, reading, relaxing. Ryan picked me up for our first date at that house. We had our first kiss at that house. We watched our first movie together at that house. We put the hardwood floors in that house (our first real project together!). After we got engaged, we went to that house and had dinner with Alex. I had birthdays and Christmases in that house. I made the curtains in that house. I cried 1,000 tears over various sad events in that house (like the time I almost hit a squirrel coming home from work.) I quit a job while living at that house. I started a new one living at that house.
It just seemed wrong to hand it over to someone else. But again, it was someone who I know loves that house. And I know she will be good to it, and it will be good to her, like it was to me. But that doesn't make me any less sad right now.
I know one day I will feel this way about the house we are in now (and yes, I still call it "Ryan's House".) It will, after all, be the house that we lived in when we first got married. It will be the house that we first brought our baby home to live in. It's the first house I've lived in where I've really gotten to have a garden (that's a whole blog post of it's own though). And who knows what else we will eventually say about this house. But until then, I really really love my house. And I miss it still.
This was what you saw when you walked in the front door- living room, dining room and the kitchen.
Behind that door was the downstairs 1/2 bath. You're staring at my favorite chair.
In that far corner is the bookshelf my brother custom built for me, just for this house.
My kitchen. I put in the tile with the help of a couple of friends.
My bedroom. The windows out back overlooked a LOT of greenery, so it was nice and peaceful.
My bedroom, part 2. You can also see my bathroom.
More of the bathroom.
My guestroom (where Alex lived for a few months). And yes, those are real Cabbage Patch Kids.
Guest Bathroom (safe haven for all my ladybug paraphernalia from my college days).
My sweet craft room, where I had all of my sewing things and scrapbooking things.
After cleaning it out, I took a few last pictures. It's weird to me how very different it looks now.
My bedroom
More of my bedroom
Guest room
Former site of the craft room
My last trip down the stairs, and out the door. This was also the view I had every time I went to open the door. I'm trying to think of it as a new beginning (a new era of only paying 1 mortgage!) After all, this is the same vantage point I had when I went down these stairs to go on my first date with Ryan. And that turned out to be a really good thing. So this will turn out to be good too. Even if it is a little sad right now.
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