Here is #1.
Five years ago, Bayou and I sat in our little hottub, amidst a snowy background.
Dressed in bathing suits and winter hats, we drank wine while looking up at our rooftop Christmas lights.
We talked about our future together in that home, what we would like to upgrade or add on, what we had grown tired of, what we hated.
If we ever moved, we wanted it to be THE home. Bayou had already moved a few times, from rental to rental, and finally settled into this home a few years prior. He ferociously warned me of the "joys" of moving.
I smiled wildly, both not really knowing what he meant and thinking,
How hard could it really be? We aren't hoarders.
Bayou and I had met during my last year in college. I was saving money by forgoing dorm life and continuing to live in my parents house. I couldn't wait until I graduated to get a job and move to the city! I dreamed of what my tiny apartment would look like, with all of it's cheap Ikea furniture.
And maybe a dog.
And a short walk to my, obvious, dream job.
And then I met Bayou.
And my whole world was flipped upside down.
We dated for the first few months, me still living at home, still in school, still also at my full time internship. Luckily I was getting paid and scraped up enough money for.......a dog.
Bayou had spent these months begging me to move in.
Stay with him permanently.
But I was nervous.
Not nervous that I didn't love him, I knew that from the start.
Our beginning was a bit bumpy and I was nervous to let my future new sparkly life in the city, fade away, and succumb to a suburban life. Just how it's always been.
But as luck would have it, I found THE dog I had been searching for.
A little frenchie. All white, with a big black spot over one eye and one on his butt.
Yes, I was that specific.
Bayou was nervous about having a dog. He was a cat guy and dog's just didn't fit into his life.
But he wanted me to move in, and I couldn't bring the little guy home to my parents.
So that weekend, we made two bold moves.
Bayou caved to a dog and the two of us moved ten minutes up the road from my parents, to his home.
Now, about this home.
To say I was disgusted by the place was an understatement.
I was graduating that May with a degree in Interior Architecture where I would "change the world" with my epic design skills and here I am moving into a run down, wood paneling clad, broken window, carpeted kitchen, mess of a house.
It just wouldn't do.
Although I had basically lived there for months already, it became blaringly obvious that this would be my home soon.
A place where friends came over, where parties were thrown, where holidays were shared.
And I was.....embarrassed.
Everything was so.....brown.
That first year I spent training my pup not to ruin every vertical wood surface (didn't work), and cleaning up all his accidents (I still do to this day) that I let my grand gestures of overhauling this house, or moving, slip away a bit, and just settled in with Bayou.
As the years past, and I got better paying jobs, we were able to slowly make the place more livable, more inviting.
We painted every wall in that house.
Redid the entire first flooring.
Added new drapery.
Installed granite counter tops and a new sink in the kitchen.
Replaced both chewed up bathroom vanities.
Painted the kitchen cabinetry.
Fixed the broken glass windows.
Painted the siding.
Added a new roof.
Built a new, larger patio.
Fenced in the backyard.
Installed a new front door.
Installed a new coat closet.
Added a retaining wall.
Paved the gravel driveways.
And the list goes on.
And with the exception of the fence and the roof, we did everything all on our own.
With our own hands.
With our own time.
And our own hard earned money.
We would get done with one project and realize there were so many more projects to still tackle.
Where would it end?
Five years ago, we thought we could move.
We had a bit of money scraped together and chatted with a realtor.
I was working insane hours at work at a job I hated, and Bayou was in the middle of a really tiring and stressful time at his job as well. We just wanted a break. A new beginning in a place that we didn't have to fix up with a band-aid's worth of paint. Or hide another botched construction job from the previous owners.
But the realtor talked to us about the realities of a home sale, and week day showings, and the combination of not enough time and the huge loss on our home, and we quietly closed that chapter.
