I grew up in a home – two homes actually. My first was a snug split level in a quiet neighborhood in a good school district in the northern suburbs of Minneapolis/St. Paul. When we moved there we were so far north people in the cities didn’t even consider us a suburb. We were happy there but my parents wanted something more.
So, we spent roughly 8 years searching for the perfect place. Once we finally did I was about to be a freshman in high school. We packed up our finished but not especially updated home, the only my brother and I had ever known and moved even further north. To a place people don’t yet consider to be part of the suburbs.
The big yellow farmhouse we bought is now nearly 100 years old. It’s a bit of a landmark for people traveling through area, although it’s now gray and not yellow any longer. On the farm we had a barn and a disused silo. Eventually a horse, a swing hanging from a 200-year-old oak tree, and about 6 hours of weekly mowing.
These places were my home and are were so many of my memories are based.
However, once I hit college, I never really had a home again. Until now.
For these longish years of my adulthood, I’ve moved yearly – except for two stints where we were in one place for two years and another for three. But now, my husband and I of nearly 13 years and the family we’ve accumulated along the way – two cats, two kids – are on the brink of moving into our very own, very first home.
I was ok with the moving about, until this last move. We had been in the same comfortable rental for three years and detaching ourselves from that place was difficult. I loved the neighborhood. We loved the school. It was perfect.
So when circumstances destroyed our ability to stay where we were, we were uprooted for new opportunities back on the other side of the Midwest. During this whole uncoupling process, it became very apparent to both husband and me that we wanted roots. The nomad years had served us well but had to end. We weren’t going to be able to go back to the frozen tundra of Minnesota, so we were going to grow where we were. Ohio.
This blog is the story and our journey of homeownership. The graceful or disastrous way we trip through this huge life event, manage this massive investment and create our home.
Built-in me is an innovated and creative spirit – although I lack the skills of my father who basically DIY’s everything (even things he doesn’t need to DIY), I aspire to his accomplishments in my own way. Armed with my tools, some plans, and the spirit of adventure I intend to get my sweat equity in gear.
I welcome you to join me on this wild ride to cheer my victories and laugh with me in the murky depths of the upcoming challenges that await.
The Mama Professor is Home.
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