Then the housing market went berserk, pushing prices beyond any level of sanity and making a change of address all the more challenging for us. At the same time, we got really busy, with careers and mostly with raising a family. One kid, then another. It seems like several years – years of diapers and preschool and reading Dr. Seuss at bedtime – passed in a total blur. I honestly don’t remember much of the detail.
As our children grew, they became more and more attached to our home, and now they won't even consider the notion of moving. Neither will my wife and I. We actually paid the house off a few years ago, and the last thing we want is the weight of another mortgage.
“All of my memories are here,” explains my 8-year-old daughter, who has a knack for quickly verbalizing the essence of a situation. I ask my son, who’s 11, what he likes about the house. “Everything,” he says without even looking up from his Apple Jacks. Who knew kids could be so sentimental?
It’s true that my family has shared lots of memorable and miraculous moments in our cozy bungalow, as well as a few things I’d rather not recall. The bottom line is this … our house is a member of the family. It’s 2,000 square feet of comfort and familiarity and peacefulness. It lives with us, breathes with us, laughs with us and is always there to take us in and calm us down.
So, here we are, 15 years and counting in our starter home.
I’d say we made a pretty good purchase.