The trees outside are a mottled red, green, brown. It’s moving time, and normally, I would be packing up our books into liquor boxes. The rules are simple: one, always start packing the books first, and two, liquor boxes are best.
We Archers are familiar with moving. Six moves in five years will do that to you. It’s a known rhythm, one of unpacking, reshuffling. That chair works best in this corner. The forks and spoons don’t have their own drawer anymore. There’s always a period of adjusting to new space, and a few months later, when things are at peace, it’s time to move again.
But we’re not moving this year. November marks the longest my family has lived in one place. The solution to our vagabond ways was simple: we bought a house. Last fall, we signed our life away for our townhome and we were no longer renters. We owned property, even if it was three stories and a tiny postage stamp yard.
For a few weeks, it felt like our other moves. Well, except for one thing: we were allowed to paint. And paint we did. We painted the kitchen, the living room, the cabinets, two bedrooms, and two bathrooms. Oh, and a closet. I’m not sure if if I’ll ever want to hold a brush again.
Slowly, with a lot of work and even more YouTube videos, the boring town home is becoming ours. We’ve learned how to replace a sink faucet, install cabinetry, and fix ductwork. I was especially proud when a repairman expressed surprise when I said I had switched the hinge on the dryer door.
This is our home.
And it’s a little weird, to be honest. It’s odd not being a renter. This month, I’m half expecting to be told to pack everything up, that it’s time to file another address forwarding request with the post office.
But then writing the next mortgage check reminds me that this is ours, really. If Daniel and I want to paint the bathroom green or install a door in the too-big bedroom upstairs, we can. The freedom to change something of our own is way better than continual packing and moving. It will be ours a while longer.
This is the best place.