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Making a House a Home

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

Did you know…this is the longest I have ever lived in one house since I was seventeen years old? In fact, since I was seventeen I have lived in three different states, countless cities, and 14 different houses/apartments, and none of them for more than two years.

We moved every few years as I was growing up, so I guess it’s just a concept that has stuck with me in my twenties and thirties. I would pick a place, settle, and then immediately start looking for the next best thing. The better college, the better city, the better apartment, the better opportunity. I always felt that I had to keep moving. To slow down was to get complacent. To slow down would cause me to really look at my self and face my unhappiness. Instead of looking for something new and better I would be forced to discover why “this moment in time” was not working for me. To slow down was to die.

When we picked this house, we did so in a hurry. My current situation was dangerous and the longer I stayed the more dangerous it became, not only for me for my the kids too. I was trying to stay for as long as I could, simply to help ease the transition for leaving, for all of us leaving. But as someone who was the only provider in a house of five for the past 8 years, someone with three small children, and someone who had nothing extra to offer, I had no where to go. That is until Joe stepped in and decided he would buy a house for us. Sure we had just started dating, but we knew my situation was dire.

We looked for a while but there was always something wrong with the house: schools weren’t good, not enough bedrooms, no dining room, too far of a drive. Until one day we were simply driving through one of my old neighborhoods in the rain. As we drove down the street, the sun came out and a rainbow appeared…at the same exact moment that we saw the for sale sign. We had looked online in this neighborhood so many times, but had never seen this house listed. Joe made an offer the next day and two months later, on another rainy day in August we moved in.

We furnished it with random odds and ends found in our basements, on facebook marketplace, and Ikea. for almost a month we didn’t even have a dining room table and the kids would sit and eat on the window seat in our dining room.

Slowly but surely we filled the house with furniture and books, pictures and toys, laughter and our own personalities. But as someone who was always waiting for the other shoe to drop, I never let myself really settle. I couldn’t “invest” in this house as my home yet. To invest would have been to be happy, and there were far too many unknowns.

Two and a half years later, when my divorce was finalized and my custody battle won, the house had fulfilled its purpose. It was my savior in a truly harmful situation. The calm from my storm. My safe haven in a sea of turmoil and doubt. It was the place I was able to rebuild my life and my family and start the long process of coming home to myself. So do we stay or do we go? Do we pick up and start over again, or begin the process of making this house a home?

“Home is wherever you leave everything you love and never question that it will be there when you return.”

Every single thing I love is here. I think we’ve made the right decision.

The Home Sign

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

Charlotte has this tradition. Ok, maybe it’s not really a tradition, but it’s something she always says and does. Whenever we drive a certain way on 695 we pass a big sign right before we reach our exit. I have passed this sign probably a million times in my life and I, for the life of me, can’t even tell you what it really says. I think it’s for a sofa store? Or maybe a gym? I don’t know. But Charlotte calls it “the home sign”.

Every single time we pass it she shouts out “Look! It’s the home sign! We’re almost home.” And sure enough, we are. None of us have ever really bothered to correct her on this. Obviously we know it doesn’t say Home on it. Even the more skeptical among us (cough, Oliver, cough) have even begun calling it that ourselves. It doesn’t matter what it says. We know what it means. We are almost home.

It’s so strange to think we have lived in this house for about three and a half years. It honestly feels like we have always been here; in this house, in this little neighborhood. The first three years of the separation were fight after fight with my ex. The biggest one always being that he refused to acknowledge that this home, the one I created from love after I left the one that was filled with so much hate and animosity, was the kid’s home. He would repeatedly tell me and the children, that this was not their home. They had one home, and it was the one that they lived in with him. Even after the courts granted me legal joint and physical custody, stating unequivocally that in the eyes of the law this was their house too, he still would repeat it. And even still, 10 months after we were finally divorced, 40 months after I left the most toxic relationship I had ever been in, even to this very day, he still says it.

For the longest time, it would cause me to fly into a blind rage. I would send long worded emails and text messages telling him to stop, telling him to accept what has happened, telling him that he was causing more harm to everyone than good. And then one day (way longer than it should have taken me) I just stopped. And it was all because of the home sign.

I finally realized I don’t care if that’s what he believes. Honestly, it doesn’t even matter that that is what the court system has dictated. What matters is that my little three believe it. And they do, wholeheartedly. Because we have a home sign. We know that this is home.

A few weeks ago I decided, against my better judgement, to let all the kids pile their stuff into Charlotte’s room for a sleepover. I knew it meant a late night and an early morning, but it was a holiday weekend and I had four glorious days off of work (and probably a glass or two of wine), so I said why not. But then a funny thing happened. No kids lasted at the sleepover. Every single one simply wanted to sleep in their own bed. I thought it odd at first and then it hit me. I had made them so comfortable here that wanted to be in their own spaces. They liked their spaces. They felt like home. And that’s because they are.

It’s funny. Joe and I are always house dreaming, looking for places with big yards (so I have can backyard chickens), enough bedrooms, and a driveway (for my RV of course), but as much fun as it is to look, I don’t know if I really want to move. I love this house. Sure it has it’s problems, but what house doesn’t? We have great neighbors, a fantastic neighborhood, playgrounds, food trucks, everything we could possibly want. And those aren’t even the biggest reasons to stay. The biggest reasons transcend all of that. This is where I found love. This is where I was able to be free. This is where my new story was able to begin. This is home.