Technically, I've been a homeowner for the last 7ish months, since I got married and moved in with my husband. People have asked me, at various point along the way, if its felt like "my" home or "our" home, since lived there 3 years previously. I've told them it has and I meant it. Living here felt like home pretty quickly. It probably helped that I was only in my previous residence for 4 months and it wasn't long enough for it to truly feel like home. Though, I think it really has do with the fact that we spent the first month or two re-organizing all the rooms. We unpacked my things and moved some of his around. Here's the thing, I'm an organizer-I like things to be organized and to have a place. Of course, my living space doesn't always reflect a high level of organization and things don't always end up in their place....but they DO have a place to go! Regardless, organizing for me is much more about the act of doing the actual organizing than it is about keeping things organized. [Have I sufficiently confused you?] Anyways, I say to only to point out that I really have felt at home here since the beginning.
In the last few months, my home ownership has including organizing, painting the kitchen, putting a few frames up (and letting a bunch more just sit in a box waiting to be put up), and a very sad attempt at yard work.
However, I think it was last night when I experienced what it really means to be a homeowner. What is that? well, our washing machine broke...more specifically, the hot water line broke to the washing machine got a nice hole in it.
Here's what happened- We sat down after spending the evening painting our dining room to watch our latest netflix movie (Prince Caspian, in case you were wondering). P had put a load of wash in just a few minutes earlier and I realized it sounded REALLY loud. I figured he had just forgotten to close the doors and thus, it was just louder than normal (upon reflecting back, it sounded like a waterfall gushing). I went upstairs, saw the doors were closed and almost turned around to go back downstairs, figuring I must have been mistaken. Then I saw it. Water seeping onto the carpet. I turned the light on to see if that was really what i was looking at and then opened the doors a few inches to confirm that water was in fact spewing quite forcefully from the back of the washing machine somewhere. I called for Peter and he began the mad dash of trying to turn the valve off at the machine (which wouldn't turn off) and then running downstairs to turn all the water off.
So there we were, with the water off, no movie watching going to happen and a desperate attempt to clean up the water that encompassed the entire floor of the washer/dryer closet, about 2 ft in front of the closet in all directions, and a 2 ft square in front of the guest bathroom. I started pulling out towels to clean it up, and being the good wife I am, started with they older, "yucky" get dirty towels and the beach towels....and then went to the nicer, but we don't actually use them towels...and then went to every stinkin' towel and hand towel we have in the house. Finally, it was relatively cleaned up and at least not sopping wet anymore.
I sit here today, listening to a box fan that is blowing over the still damp area and am aware of the towels I wrung out earlier to day and strung over pretty much any available surface upstairs hoping to dry them out. I'm also remembering that I need to have Peter show me how to turn the water off. I can only shudder of what would have happened had he not chosen to do that load of laundry last night and I had been doing it today when i was home alone. Ack! Thank goodness for good husbands, right?
So even though I've previously painted, patched, cleaned, organized, weeded, cooked and baked, I think this is what sealed the deal. I own this place and I'm responsible for it thankfully not by myself and I have my awesome resourceful husband who already has 3 years experience of house maintenance under his belt.