Soppho

The fact that I’m really, truly, finally, actually moving is setting in at last, as is the recollection of just how much I hate packing and, you know, the whole moving your stuff part of moving. My family moved something like ten times in my first 18 years on the planet, so I am a packing whiz. But more than that I feel like I have a really solid appreciation for what it feels like when a home feels just right and you feel truly settled there. In spite of how long I’ve lived in this apartment, I never really made it my home. I tossed some framed prints on the wall and packed furniture into nearly all of the opens spaces and called it done. Family photos are conspicuously absent. I largely live out of bins and boxes. And my most precious possessions are shuffled in with the clutter; my grandmother’s beautiful cup and saucer sit on display on my bookshelf, but hold pins, screws, and spare hardware.

The space was small, I was busy, and each year I was certain I would be moving when my lease ended—why bother making everything just so if you’re only going to move on in a few months? And that’s how you end up living somewhere for five years without ever having painted a wall, framed a photo, or tossed the final cardboard box.

And so I’ve vowed not to let that happen again. Really, it’s not even a vow, not something I have to put any effort into. I’m ecstatic. It’s not a house that will belong to us, and we’re on a thrift store, second-hand, hand-me-down budget for sure, but that doesn’t lessen my enthusiasm at all. I am a woman on a mission. I’ve been thinking about paint colors, new (to us) furniture, what photos to frame, how to arrange rooms and—best of all—the boy I get to share it with. And cat. And, please-oh-please-oh-please-I’ll-be-good-for-as-long-long-as-I-possibly-can-maybe-even-for-days, maybe a puppy.

I made my first house-related purchase the other day, and it’s a great one:

(you can find it here)

You know what would look great with it? A puppy. Surely you agree.