My husband and I have lived 4 places in our almost 12 years of marriage:
Apartment 1: One bedroom. Two cars stolen from the parking lot. We could walk to the mall. We spent our first two years of marriage here. This equalled slammed doors, raised voices and many midnight tears.
Apartment 2: Two bedrooms. Near the beach. Lots of cockroaches. We moved to get away from the roaches, but we will ALWAYS miss the coast.
House 1: 1928 bungalow in a historic part of town. Cute. Quaint. 1050 tiny square feet and a guest bedroom that slightly sloped toward the street. Had a baby. She learned to walk here.
House 2: More than doubled our square footage. Had another baby. Gained a view, a proximity to coyotes and wildfires and a microscopic yard. Let’s just say that we will be here for pretty much ever.
Even though we needed to, leaving our first house was bittersweet.
The kitchen was small and the cupboard space was deplorable. The breakfast nook was fit, for perhaps mice, but certainly not a family who might eat their first meal of the day. The “dining room” spilled into the living room, which itself was only large enough for a television, and two small sofas. There were three bedrooms, but the “master” bedroom which was next door to the only bathroom was only large enough for a queen bed, two nightstands and a small path around. The closets were strange, tiny and dark. The raised hardwood floor was in moderate condition, but echoed when any person walked more than two steps in any direction.
But the walls were green. A perfect green, with just the right amount of brown throughout that it wasn’t olive but it also wasn’t mint. It was calm and it soothed.
The yard was wide and had fruit trees. I made lemonade each summer.
My baby had her own perfect baby room with hardwood floors and two small closets. It was next to ours and I could reach her crib using about four steps. This came in handy during sleepless nights and in the one earthquake that shook when we lived there.
My husband and I always felt at home there. We always felt like we belonged and that this home fit around us like a tailored coat.
We could have raised our girls there. But they wouldn’t have been able to ride their bikes in the street because it was so busy. We couldn’t have let them play in the front because there was always pedestrian traffic going to and from the university we lived 3 doors down from. With only one little girl running through the rooms, we were already starting to outgrow the thousand square feet of living space. Our best-friend neighbors moved away too, so the house felt empty even as we were beginning to leave.
This morning when I woke up in the bed that inhabits House 2, I was grateful that I could see the sunrise on the hills, hazy and warm. I could hear only one car as it passed on its way to work or school (rather than many). My girls were each still tucked in their own beds and the cat roamed the hallway. We are meant to be here, to bring up our family.
But our first house is still like an old friend to me. One who I will never speak to again, not because we fought or exchanged harsh words, but because she is simply unreachable. My old house, with its coved ceilings, vintage fixtures and tiny bedrooms, will never be mine again. It was sold, and since then, sold again, and someone else lives there now. Someone who I don’t know and has put two strange gold lions on the front porch.
You have just described COMPLETELY how I feel about our first home, as this is our second also.
My only regret today is that I wish there had been a way to keep it, so that when my kids go to start their own families, James and I could return. Sigh…
Misty, I totally never thought about that…going back there after the kids are all gone. What a cool thing that would be.
Echoing your sigh…
I echo Misty’s thoughts – it is how I feel about our first home as well. I miss it, our neighborhood, our neighbors. aah! Every time I return to visit my family I drive up to our old neighborhood and drive by our old house and remember. Our best friend neighbors moved two months before we did so shortly before we moved we could feel the changes.
A trip down memory lane today….
Gold lions? Why, why, why…I don’t think I’ll ever understand some people’s taste. I felt like that about a house I lived in from ages 9-16. I too have gone back to see what had become of my sweet little tan home with brick trim…It’s purple.
How sweet our first homes are too us, even with their imperfections.
We still drive past ours to see how it has changed.
I started to cry while I was reading this, as I could relate to so much of it and my feelings about our first house. And then, you finished it by making me laugh.
Your writing just touches me this way.
I love this post. We are in our first house now – bought it just over a year ago. I’m sure it will be bitter sweet when we have to move.
The first 2 1/2 years of our marriage we were in a one bedroom apartment – good times. Your description was exactly how it was for us – no room to get away, lots of fighting, midnight crying, etc. etc. etc.
Ahhhhh, I’m so glad that “stage” of marriage is over…hahahaha!
it’s been almost a year since we moved from our first house, and i think about it all the time. we drive by and see it often, and the kids enjoy early memories there. i’m so sad to think that they will be tearing it down next year- i wish we could drive by it for memory’s sake always… even if it had gold lions or was painted purple.
Gold lions, yes. And I think it was purchased by the college so it may have random students living there and having parties. who knows.
By the time we celebrated our third anniversary, we were about to move into our fourth house. The house we lived in the longest is the one I miss the most… we were there for a full year and a half and we went from two crazy kids to a real family during that time. Now, I often long for those simple days, mostly because living there meant John was still with us. I somehow imagine our old life would be waiting for us there. But then I remember that even if we were to go back, the house has been gutted and remodeled, there are different neighbors, we have another baby and a different life… I doubt we’d recognize our old house anymore, nor would it recognize us.
i loved your first house. so, cute! i miss our first home, but we had a huge roach problem (the roaches were huge, like VW’s bugs) and I don’t miss them at all!!
I’ve just moved from our home. You know THE home. I birthed two of our three children in the livingroom; life gushed forth from us into that house. And it soaked it up. Sometimes I feel as though I’ll never make somewhere else home again.
What a poignant post. Great, now I’m going to cry…
-Andrea
Sarah, you are so gifted with words, with evoking something meaningful. Thank you.
It reminds me of our old house — on a third of an acre with so many trees I never did count them all. A third of an acre with perennial gardens and lilacs and a magical weeping willow and a fort in the bushes and a sandbox… when we moved we took some perennials and the board in the kitchen with our kid’s measurements on it.
Now we live in a postage stamp yard next to a great playground with friends and neighbors that God had in mind when he hauled us across the country.
What a beautiful post about your prior house.
I am a stay at home mom of two girls and love it but sometimes it can be tedious. I have started to read both you and Lisa Leonard’s blog and they give me a little inspiration during my day.
I also bought the Mama necklace for my mom with your beautiful words on it.
So, thanks, for the little bit of light during my day. You are an amazing writer and should be proud
I can just picture it’s charm and character. It is hard to find homes like that.
We live about a mile away from our first home and DETEST what the new owners have done to it. They stripped the charm right out of it with their cinderblocks and 4 big dogs.
Sigh.
I really loved your first house, too. I remember how cute Hope’s nursery was…the little bench beneath the window with all the cute pillows and cushions. It was such a precious room!
Hey Sarah, that last post was actually me (you probably figured that Greg wouldn’t use the word “precious” to describe a room!). I guess I didn’t realize I was posting under his account. =)