Written by Eileen
I love this old house I live in. It is the home of my childhood; it is a big, old, American foursquare, and I love it. My husband does not always share my love for this old house. Even the smallest home improvement endeavor turns into a major project for him. I know when I see him with his tools out it is time for everyone to cover their ears because soon the swear words will be flowing! Old house, old wiring, old pipes, equals big problems for a do-it-yourself project. However, I know he does share a love of some things in this house; we both love the character, the stucco-plastered walls, the craftsmanship of the hand-plastered ceilings and crown moldings, and the built-in shelves in our dining room. We both loved having the kitchen remodeled.
I first moved into this house in 1963 when I was nine years old. My parents moved us from a small three-bedroom house that had grown much too small for a family of nine to the ‘new’ house that was about sixty years old then. With its six bedrooms, it seemed like a mansion! I lived here until the day I got married at nineteen years old. I have a lot of nice memories growing up in this house: friends, relatives, birthdays, graduations, holidays, Holydays, Sacraments. Lots of fun, lots of fights (there were seven kids!) and lots of love. I was pregnant with my fourth child when my Mom asked if I would like to have my family move into the house. She said it was too big for them although two brothers and my younger sister still lived at home. Mom said that the house was getting to be too much for them to keep up with. I think it was just my parents looking out for one of their own, as we were in a two-bedroom apartment at the time. We were more than grateful, and happily jumped at the offer, and a few months later, we settled into this old house. My sister stayed on with us and was always there to help with the kids and support us for the years she was with us before she married and moved out.
It will be twenty-seven years this June since my family moved back into the old house I grew up in. The house has seen its share of commotions with our five kids, their cousins, their friends, and three dogs. There were never many dull moments. I have so many fond (and some not so fond) memories of my own kids growing up in this house, and I embrace each and every one of them. Some children have moved to their own homes, but the house is still full now with grandkids. It has been a bustle of activity for as long as I can remember. Lots of people come in and out to this day, friends and family that visit for an hour, stay for a weekend, or stay for a year or more. My Mom always made this house a welcome haven for everyone; our door was always open.
We are far from a perfect family, but I hope I do justice to my Mom and the house that she too loved. I hope that each and every one of my family knows that if they ever knock on this front door, it will opened to them and they will be welcomed into this old house.
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