I love my house. I really do. It's a small-ish farm house, built right around 1950. It is pretty much a duplicate, I believe, of the farmhouse that was here originally. The original burned down, and this one was built on the same foundation. So quite honestly, our basement is much older than the house. I have no idea how old--I should find that out. I do know that there is a giant freezer in our basement that's older than the house. It's HUGE. We can put so. much. stuff in it. And it works better than any freezer I've ever seen. Freezes meat so solid it would shatter if you dropped it on the concrete floor. You know the old saying, "they don't make things like they used to?" Well, in this case it's true.
When we first came out here to this place to check it out, it was the summer of 1998. Hubby had told me about it. It was close to his work, and it looked so nice. At the time we lived in this little rambler on one of the busiest streets in east Bloomington. Right near a main highway. And I loved that house. But I think the hubby was unsatisfied there--not enough projects to work on, not enough yard, too far from work. I remember walking into the house here for the first time. Hubby was busy walking around the property looking in all the buildings. His parents had come with us, and my mom-in-law and I walked in the house by ourselves. She instantly grabbed my hand. We walked in from the back door to a little entry way and an adorable kitchen with about four times the space as my old kitchen. I was pretty much sold. So we made it happen. We moved in October 3, 1998.
We've done quite a bit of work to the place. But believe me, we have a lot more to do. Funny how that honeymoon stage doesn't last. Now there are things about the house that drive me nuts. Things I liked when we first got the place. The "cute" entryway is now tiny and cramped. The white tile flooring is now cracked, impossible to keep clean, and cold. But I love my home. Because it's a home.
I have lived here longer than I have ever lived anywhere in my life. My roots have taken hold here. My kids will live here, in one house, until they move out on their own. We have cut down trees, planted trees. Changed the landscape. Put in a wood-burning fireplace (how did it not have one in the first place?) and a front porch (how did it not have one in the first place?). We have painted walls. New siding, roof, windows.
There is so much work still to do. But the ongoing nature of the projects around here are part of what endears it to me. It's growing right along with us. It's messy a lot. Because life is messy. It's cheerful almost all the time. Because we are a happy family. It smells good in here.
The house is getting smaller as my kids are getting bigger. There are three bedrooms upstairs. All occupied. One by two adults, two by ever-growing, messy boys. There is a bathroom upstairs that my hubby tiled. It almost always has toothpaste globs in the sink that I have to wipe out. There are almost always nerf darts on the floor of the hallway. There are pictures of my kids from each school year on the hall upstairs.
The main floor has my office. My room. MY room. We have a house and seven outbuildings with a caretaker apartment. This one room is mine. I have claimed it. Hubby and kids can have the rest. There is also the living room, the dining room, a bathroom and the kitchen. Again, always filled with signs of life. There are random photos and artwork hung on the walls. The pillows on the couch are almost never on the couch, but on the floor from the kids goofing around. The dining room table is almost always covered with folded laundry. My kitchen is big and bright. It has the most life of any room in the house. It's where hubby and I sit talk over a couple beers late into the night, him pacing around and me sitting on the counter. It's where by brother cooks when he comes over. It's where I taught J how to scramble eggs. It's where my kids sat on the floor the other night carving pumpkins.
We put in a fireplace a few years ago. It's a big brick one in the living room. Now our TV hangs on the wall above it. You all know how I feel about TV. So the living room is one of my happiest places. It's where I curl up on my chair to watch my shows. It's where we holler and jump around during Vikings or Gophers games. Very soon, it will once again be the home of the Christmas tree and an obnoxious amount of Christmas decorations. My living room is where the kids play video games. Where they eat snacks on their little trays on the floor. Where they have little mini slumber parties when mom lets them sleep in the living room. My dining room is where I hang out and chat when people come over. I have a scratched up dining room table. It's scratched up because it's well used. We do use it for meals. But it's also a place for laundry, scrapbooking, homework, board games, picking at placemats over coffee while we talk about family drama, school projects, blowing out birthday candles.
And outside. My big open yard. Where my boys are growing up. Where they learned how to swing a bat, throw a football, climb trees. Where hubby drives his tractors, his skid steer, the golf cart. Our fire pit. Where countless family members and friends have hung out, talking, laughing, roasting marshmallows, throwing peanut shells in the fire. Where we have blue jays all winter long. Where we're constantly watching out for a legendary wolverine. Our outside home is divided up into sections--the park, where the fire pit and swingset is. The football field, a big rectangle of open grass. The "beautiful forest" (so named by Nephew1), where the kids have their "hideout". The pasture, the driveway, and many more sections. The boys have mastered driving a golf cart around. Every winter hubby piles up snow for a giant snow mountain for them to play on and slide down. And all year long there's random stuff around: balls, bikes, nerf guns, frisbees, toys. And hubby stuff--tools, shovels, hoses, buckets, work gloves.
It's home. All of it. It's often messy. It's often noisy. Sometimes it's frustrating. It's never finished. But it's always home, and that makes it like Heaven to me.
He was different from his brother, right from the start. I had to have an emergency c-section with him because his arm was stuck up over his head, and they were afraid his arm would be broken on his way out. The c-section was awful. Seriously, awful. I highly recommend avoiding them if at all possible. But in the end I was given a beautiful little cherub that became my little cuddler. J was a mommy's boy right from the start. He's an extremely affectionate little guy, and he wanted to be attached to me 24 hours a day. Which was a nice change, because his brother is not the most affectionate little dude, and I wanted a cuddler.
J has the brightest blue eyes I've ever seen. They're like a royal blue. I love them. And he was a chunky little guy. I used to call him "Chunkalicious." He was buddies with his big brother right from the start. They are still so close, I have become dependent on their relationship. 
They fight, they argue, they pick at each other. They're brothers. But they also play together, joke with each other, laugh together, and look out for each other. When one of them is hurt, the other one is upset for them. It's amazing how sweet they can be.
He's funny. Super funny, and it's awesome now as he's getting older, his sense of humor is maturing, and his jokes are getting funnier. And he has developed a love for card tricks and magic tricks, and it's stunning how good he's getting at the card tricks, and card handling in general. 
