One year ago we moved into our West Linn home, which, thanks to Peeper, we still call New House.
We’ve been here long enough that people have stopped asking us how we like our “new” neighborhood, house and town. But I’m just as grateful today as I was on that first day we moved in.
A future in our home
Especially now that we have decided to call our family complete at two kids, which means we won’t outgrow this house anytime soon, I can see our future—and my kids’ childhood years—stretching out under this roof.
I imagine the sleepovers, the blue glow of the TV screen illuminating kids’ faces as they munch popcorn and watch cartoons.
I imagine the birthday parties in our yard, with melted ice cream dripped on parched grass.
I imagine the kitchen table—the one my family gathered around when I was a child—strewn with spelling lists and multiplication tables and art projects proudly brought home from school.
I imagine many firsts—Kiwi’s first steps, Peeper’s first written word.
Celebrating our first home
Before we moved into New House, Eric and I bounced from rental to rental: the moldy former pot-growing home we fled when I was pregnant with Peeper, the unit with the kind family from Eritrea downstairs, the apartment with the chain-smoking neighbors. Each sheltered us and kept us warm and provided a mailing address.
But New House is our first home.
They say home is where the heart is, but I feel more connected to this place through my feet. Every time I tiptoe into Peeper’s room to pull the blanket over her slumbering shoulders, every time I bounce to the Black Keys with Kiwi on my hip in a family dance party, every time I plant my feet in downward dog with Peeper crawling under the tunnel my body makes, every time I walk Finn through our neighborhood, I make this place a little more ours.
I am sowing memories here. I am putting down roots. I am making this house a home.