My Story, I'm Sticking To It

For those who say teenagers don't know anything, listen to this. At 15 years old and a sophomore in high school, I was in love. Luckily, the young man loved me, too, so much that we said we'd get married someday. And seven years later, at the ripe old age of 22, we did.

Fast forward two years, and at 24 years old, we bought our first home. It was nice, big enough for us and our baby on the way, but it wasn't "ours." Actually, my honey's grandparents had built the house, and we bought it from them as they wanted to downsize.


Over the next few years, we would paint every surface in the house (some of them four or five times!), change the flooring and light fixtures, and completely remodel the basement. We'd tear out gardens, add new ones, and paint our lovely screened-in porch. We sweat, we argued, we laughed, and we loved our end result. What came to be was "ours." We bought a house, nice enough, and made it into the perfect home for our family.

It seems, however, that we're never done. Unfortunately for my husband, I'm always scheming, dreaming of new paint colors to try and pictures to hang. Fortunately for me, I married a man who knows that in a good home, it's best to keep the lady of the house happy.