We bought our house last June. We did quite a bit of work on it, and it was finally starting to feel like home. Then, I left in November and was gone until this July (minus a few weeks when I was home over Christmas). For the mathematically challenged like me, that means that I’ve actually been gone longer than I’ve been there since we purchased the house. This became pretty obvious when I finally got home.
My wife actually continued working on the house while I was gone. If anything, the pace increased because I wasn’t there to slow her down with my complete ignorance of things like “carpenter’s squares” and “hammers.” She re-wired the garage lighting, turned part of the front lawn into a rock garden, redid the entire sprinkler system, painted two rooms, put ceiling fans in the kids’ rooms (more rewiring), and about 30 other things that I can’t remember. This turned a house that I couldn’t really remember into a house that I couldn’t even recognize.
The first time I walked into the house, it was like a breath of fresh air. I could smell the hardwood floors (something we installed together before I left), and it felt like home. It was like I had been there my entire life and never even left…I then tried to go to the bathroom in the laundry room.
Here are just a few of the questions and comments I uttered over the next three weeks:
“Hey, did you know that we have fish?”
“Has the television always been hanging on the wall?”
“What’s a drip sprinkler?”
“Where’s the basil that you need me to get? Ok, which garden is that? Sure…now where is that garden located? Uh huh…would you mind just pointing?”
I can’t wait to get home from this stretch, so I can continue my search for our elusive downstairs bathroom.