House and Home

So this week, two major things happened with our house.  The first is that I made my first, newly modified mortgage payment.  This has taken well over a year to get put together and agreed to and approved, and when all is said and done, I'll be paying less on my house than I would on a two bedroom apartment here in town.  The benefit of this is that we have continuity and stability, and I don't have to pack and move, which I would dread given the amount of crap I've managed to accumulate in the 8+ years we've lived here.  There are closets I absolutely refuse to open any more.  There's just no storage in this house.  I need a new shed, is what it comes to.  And someday I will.

Paying the mortgage is a big deal for me.  When Mike died, we were clinging by our fingernails, and I thought after he died, "Screw it."  I didn't really want to live here any more for a long time.  But I suppose that's why they tell you not to make any major decisions for a year following a death.  So I'm just as glad that I can live here and pay my bills and make something of it all.

Unfortunately, I also had a roofing guy in here this week and I need to put a roof on the house.  *Sigh*  The turn around time right now is 6-8 weeks, so it looks like I'll be writing a fat check to this homeboy just in time for Christmas.  Given that the money Mike did leave behind has all gone into retirement and education funds, and given that I just bought a new car, this signals the death blow to any major plans for the foreseeable future.  Not that I had any, but it was fun to have some cash on hand and no responsibilities for a while.  Now I have to be responsible again.  Darn it!

I recently began reading the book House Lust: America's Obsession With Our Homes by Daniel McGinn.  I have nothing to really compare my home with except the homes of friends.  Most of the parents of kids at Leah's preschool live in new homes that they have had built, or homes built far newer than my 1970-something split level.  When we were house hunting, my sole requirement to the realtor was that the neighborhood have mature trees.  This basically eliminated any new construction immediately, as around here huge tracts of land are clear cut, houses are built and new trees are planted.  I grew up in a teeny tiny little ranch house (my mom's friend's mother dubbed it "The Dollhouse") with 3 bedrooms and a bathroom, a living room, dining room, and kitchen.  As we got older, my parents added on a family room, office, second bedroom, and second bathroom, and I often wondered if the fact we had more space is what contributed to the collapse of our family.  When we went house hunting, I thought that what we really needed to do was have a house with stairs.  Growing up in a flat ranch, I thought having stairs in a house was the most exotic thing in the world.  So I was totally enamored of the split level.  Not one but two sets of stairs!  I quickly found out when I broke my leg that stairs aren't always the world's greatest thing.  Also hauling 6 loads of laundry down and up the stairs on laundry day quickly loses its appeal. I love the neighborhood.  I love my neighbors.  There are things about my house I like.  But I look at other houses and I think, "Huh.  My house sucks."  And then I remember:

So I'm trying to start with simple things.  I read an article about how to love your house more.  One way is to keep your bedroom clean.  Make your bed every day.  That way, when you climb into bed at night, you feel like it's more of an oasis.  I've never had a television in my bedroom.  The iPad in some ways is an unwelcome intrusion.  But it's also a necessary distraction from being alone, and when I shut out the lights at night, I hear every single noise in the house.  So better to fall asleep with David Mitchell obsessing in my ear than convinced there are intruders ready to rob and murder us. I would like to paint my bedroom, but other than that, it feels pretty much perfect.  I've got new artwork for it, I've decluttered all the surfaces, it's clean and smells nice, there are some candles, and I make the bed every day.  And when I go to bed at night, it feels pretty great.  Even if George Clooney isn't (yet) a prominent feature in there.

I am ready to declutter and organize again.  November 2011, Mike and I sent Leah off to Melissa's and we ripped through the house ruthlessly.  We got rid of 6 carloads of "stuff", although somehow it's all accumulated again.  Coffee mugs that multiply like rabbits, books for babies, hand me down clothing, broken toys, sheet music, board games, holiday decorations, china, craft supplies, tchotchkis  and more.  It needs to go.  Getting rid of the Caliber was a good first step.  I hadn't realized how much holding on to that car was holding me back.  I was so stressed about the check engine light being on, the kid mess in the car, the ripped and stained upholstery, seeing Mike's arm impression on the door.  I was glad to have a good reason to get rid of it--namely to give it to my brother-in-law for commuting purposes, and to have a shiny new car all my own is pretty awesome.  I've put a couple of stickers on it (thus confirming that my car is, in fact, Keep Calm and Carry On red--thanks Lesley!) and only my niece has dared to defile the backseat with chicken nuggets--Leah has done a great job keeping it clean.

But something in my brain seems to have clicked with the new car, and it has led me to take better care of the house.  I've vacuumed twice in the last week, and that is not like me at all.  I was able to find the floor TO vacuum--a major improvement.  I've done floorboards, washed the walls, kept up with the dishes and laundry, planned and schemed about future improvements.  And in just a month's time, my attitude towards the house has improved from one of mutual tolerance to one of genuine affection.  Paying the mortgage has helped with that.  I have ownership in it.  I am putting a substantial portion of my monthly income into paying for the house, and I must take care of it and protect it and maintain it.  Part of that thinking is also no doubt because I a) have 5 mornings a week to myself and b) am not in the throes of deep and heavy mourning any more.

And finally, I've started thinking about the places I've been happiest.  I think of the home I grew up in, small and tiny but bursting with love and laughter and happiness.  I think of my grandparents' cape in New Jersey--4 small bedrooms and one bath for 8 people.  I think of Mike's and my first apartment in Boston, just 3 rooms and a bathroom.  I think of my friend's bachelor pad in Chicago, a small studio where he manages to entertain friends from all over the place very comfortably.  I think of every condo in Myrtle Beach we've stayed in, where each time I remember how very little I need to actually be happy.

So I am training myself not to compare my house to the beautiful, huge, open, new spaces of my friends.  I love their houses, they feel homey and happy and family-filled.  But I love my house too.  And while I would love a new, state of the art kitchen, I'd be totally content to just rebuild the wall between the kitchen and the dining room, repaint the dining room, and move the laundry machines upstairs.  For today, I'll settle for a new roof.  But the house better watch it.  I've got plans.

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I would be remiss if I did not thank my dear friend Elizabeth Vaughan, who muddled through tons of paperwork and phone calls to get my mortgage modified.  I owe her such a great debt of gratitude that can never possibly be repaid, so instead I will tell all the world how wonderful she is and how much I adore her!  Thank you, Elizabeth, Leah and I both love you very much.

I am also very thankful to Jeff Smith, who has been managing my finances and making sure I don't get myself into any financial holes.  Thank you, Jeff, for helping me with all the things I am not terribly good at!