I must be nuts. I think I say this to myself at least a few times a month, so I'm starting to wonder if I might not be onto something...
Here's the problem: I found a "new" house. There's a subdivision going in nearby, and an old house is in its way. I went into the house to check it out (first mistake), and found it to be pretty cute and in surprisingly good shape. Then I called the developer (second mistake). He said I could have it to move off the property. So I called a local house-mover for an estimate (third mistake), then a realtor (#4!).
I'm not going to push it, though. If it falls into place, it was meant to be. If it doesn't, it wasn't.
Still... This has brought up all kinds of conflicting feelings. The gist of it is that I love my house. Really love it. There are things I wish it had and little quirks I'm not thrilled with. But it's mine, I've poured lots of time and sweat into it, and looking at the work I've done makes me proud. But I don't like where my house is at. The bar a block away drives me nuts, and my woods-removing neighbors piss me off. Plus, I'd like more property to keep livestock and have a bigger garden and maybe a little orchard. So I want to move, but I don't want to leave my house.
I'm also thinking a lot about the projects I want to finish, projects that would really help future resale value in addition to helping un-remuddle the house.
We've also talked about building our own home. Like litterally building it ourselves. At least the shell. A company called Shelter-Kit sells customizable kit homes that look promising. We'd be able to tailor our house to exactly what our needs/wants are.
And then I think about what we really, truly need. Even with the baby, 1100 square feet is plenty, even if we have another child at some point. We're far enough away from the city that crime isn't really an issue, and we're reasonably close to shopping and family.
And I think about what I really want. I found architect Ross Chapin's website and fell in love with his new/old houses. The rooms aren't impressively huge, they're small and cozy. There are built-ins, nice woodwork, the ever-elusive "character", and good separation of public and private space. His houses say "home" to me.
Analyzing which qualities I like in his houses, I've realized that my house has the same qualities.
Maybe the Prairie Box is the forever home we thought it was when we bought it.
Maybe in spite of the neighborhood flaws, we're right where we're supposed to be.
Maybe I am home.