A lot of you have suffered through my whining about the absolutely HORRIBLE house in which I have been so unfairly sentenced to live with 2 small children. My list of complaints included its cold and drafty winters, tiles that are not kind to a toddler's kopf, stairs, stairs, stairs, and the measly backyard which didn't compare to the vast green acres I remember from my youth. I won't repeat the rest of the list, I think I've made my point.
I dedicated countless megabytes and megawatts of brain power to solving the problem of buying a new house with a $0 budget. I spent probably a year needling Mark on the issue. He patiently looked at the on-line listings, drove past the interesting homes, and listened to me complain on and on. What a saint.
When I realized that my son made it to his first birthday without sustaining permanent damage from being reared in a 3rd world hovel, and Naomi seemed as happy and content as ever, I reconsidered my position. My feelings slowly changed into acceptance, and then peace. I found renewed gratitude and pleasure for living in this house. And today, just a couple of months before Asher's 2nd birthday, I find myself loving this house as much as I did when we first moved in.
Mark and I believe that being a family in a small-ish house (relatively speaking, of course) is a good thing because it causes us to be in each other's company regularly. Asher and Naomi bonded from sharing their room, and don't like to sleep without the other. They are learning to take each other's feelings into consideration in that small space. I am grateful for the architectural originality of our house, and am proud that we do not live in a cookie-cutter development. We are teaching our children that our priority is not a large home, but a special home that reflects our individuality.
It is a wonderful feeling to love the house one is in.
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