This photo is from August 1, 2013, the first night Greg and I spent in our apartment on Hoxsey Street. Today we are officially moved out, and moved into our first house.
That apartment was the first place we lived together. It’s where we lived when we got engaged. It’s where we spent our wedding weekend with several guests staying over in every nook and cranny– one of the best weekends of my life. It’s where we grew our family by adding two kittens, and also where we learned our family would be growing even more with the addition of a human baby. The first home Giles ever had. The first place I lived in that my mom never saw.
I never thought I’d buy a house. From my first night in New York City at age eighteen I knew I’d be an apartment gal for life, always renting, always ready to be on the move, not having to fix things like plumbing, calling the electric company when the pilot light went out.
Greg convinced me a house was the right move, and I started to understand why it might be nice. Rent money just disappears, this is an investment. More space for cats and babies. A yard. Painting the walls any crazy color I want. Putting more of ourselves into our space.
Now all our stuff is here, in our house. The walls are painted. Greg is hard at work on remodeling projects. The neighborhood is full of kids and quiet and crickets and an ice cream truck that comes around.
My mom’s paintings are hung. I hope she’s here, in the brightly colored walls and skeletons and songs and food we will eventually cook once the kitchen is done.
In both of these photos I am wearing the same pair of choo-choo overalls, that once belonged to my mom, now cutoff into shorts.
My house is me and I am it. My house is where I like to be and it looks like all my dreams.
~ Mr. Plumbean (The Big Orange Splot)