Our previous home. I spent most of my teenage years in this home. My wedding reception was held in it's back yard. My parents sold the home shortly after because they had built a new home.
Eleven years ago when we were looking for a home the old house was up for sale. It is a great home for children and we thought we would never move again. We love everything about the home and the neighborhood. I loved making it ours: the details, the plans, the memories.
It was built by my parents 18 years ago. When they left on their mission (the second time) they asked if we were interested in buying it. After many prayers and fasting we decided that it was indeed time to move and made the necessary preparations. We have lived here almost 2 years now.
It's a great home, perfect for our big family with lots of room for children to run around and play (both inside and out). Our neighborhood and ward are wonderful. Everything is perfect, but it's taken me a while for it to feel like home.
Home A was so different (changes from the previous owners) when we bought it that I didn't have any trouble transitioning and feeling like it was our home. Home B not so much. As I walked from room to room I would see my parents or my siblings. It was their home (I never lived in this home) and it was a little strange as everything was the same only it had our furniture and the added dents in the walls, but that is for another post about boys.
Last night as we were having dinner I looked around and thought, for the first time, that we were home. I'm not sure what changed, but it has. I still think about the memories my parents created within the walls of this house, but now our memories and plans for the future have a stronger effect.
We are making memories within these walls. Creating details that are unique to us and our lives. Our house is becoming our home.