We’ve been in our house for just shy of seven years. During that time we took one scary-ass house and turned it into something really lovely (we think). We bought it during the peak of the market when things sold in a day (or hours). It was our first (and only) house. I saw potential under the living room’s day-glo, French’s Mustard yellow walls, the dining room’s army green paneling and the kitchen’s cracking linoleum, yellow and black plastic tile and the blood-red cabinet interiors. Our guest bedroom was fondly called the poop-and-puke room since those were the lovely colors painted above and below puce-colored wainscoting. And to top it off, it was just about the dirtiest thing I’ve ever cleaned as well. A charmer, huh?
As we dug into fixing up this fixer-upper, we always joked that the people we bought it from did more damage than good – dozens and dozens of water rings where plants sat (and leaked) on our wood floors. Paint splatters on every piece of wood trim (clearly drop cloths were too much of a hassle when painting!). Thick adhesive coating on the screened porch floor that took two sets of metal scrapers and loads of sandpaper (and countless blisters on Chris’s hands) to remove. It also had the dirtiest washer I have ever seen – actual chunks of dirt and cat hair were found inside (how?).
But, it was all worth it. Our little house became our home through loads of sweat, buckets and buckets of paint, and a strong dose of sheer will (and a lot of booze – nothing tastes better than a really cold beer after demolishing a kitchen or putting a third coat of primer on walls that keep bleeding though!). It’s a warm and cozy place that is inviting and comfortable and ever-so-homey.
We’re moving from our house very soon, and while I am sad and will miss it — especially my small, but extremely efficient kitchen — I’m ready to move on and share it with someone else. I hope they like it as much as we did.
Pickle taking a break ... check out those kicks. 
