Over two years ago, I published “Our First Home” on our website blog, sharing the story of the little green bungalow where our journey began. Today, I’m sharing part two: “When We Built This HOME.” I wanted these stories to live together here because homes are so much more than walls and roofs. They become the backdrop to our greatest joys, deepest heartbreaks, and the memories that shape who we are.  

Our First HOME

Dated: March 25 2024

This year, we celebrate 25 years of marriage, so let’s take a walk down memory to our first home. We were in our twenties, still basically fearless, full of dreams, and ready for something to call “ours”. We closed on our first home just a couple of weeks after our wedding.

Looking back, I wonder how we planned a wedding and bought a house in less than six months. We looked, searching high and low, and then one day our agent called and said you need to see this one. I was skeptical, to say the least, as the search honeymoon had worn off. That faded away as we pulled up and I tried to hide my excitement, but there’s a reason I don’t play poker.

She was a small 2-bedroom bungalow in a whimsical green. Not too big for the budget, yet not too small for the two of us, and hope for what may come. The front was dressed in a bay window, a beautiful wood door, and white shutters. In the back was a long wooded yard, home to a city load of squirrels and bunnies. A narrow drive led to a one-car garage and to the left, a 3-season porch with a swing awaited. 

On the other side of that wood door, we found a wall of built-ins with a small electric fireplace and, of course, that beautiful bay window opened the room perfectly. But the arched doorways and the hardwood floor in the dining room had me at hello. Soft light filtered through the patio door, highlighting the stunning floors and framing the backyard view. 

The alley kitchen had floor-to-ceiling cabinets, with a built-in refrigerator surrounded by more cabinets, just right for storing all the stuff I had yet to own. A little phone nook in the hall and a wood ceiling in the bath. Finished room in the basement with hinged shutter doors, perfect for a “man cave”.  

I could go on about all the things that the cute little bungalow offered, but in the end, it wasn’t the stability or character that sold me. It was a vision, a capsule of sorts to hold my dreams. A place where those dreams would unfold and become reality. It wasn’t perfect, neither were we, but the potential was bursting at the seams.

There are many joyful memories and some sad ones too. In this home, we lost our first pet, Zoe, a beautiful, yet crazy calico cat. We buried her in the backyard where the squirrels and bunnies frolicked. We welcomed our first child to this home, Emma’s first home. A nursery carefully crafted in soft yellow, because we wanted to be surprised. In this space, we grieved a miscarriage, and I feebly tried to convince myself that I was content with one child. This was also our first dog, Doc’s home too; we miss you, good boy.

Within the 4 walls and under the roof of our first home, we found out our family would indeed include another child, so we decided to move forward with our next chapter and build a new home for our growing family. I remember vividly the day we left that home and a part of my heart. 

Ava was due the same day we were to sign closing papers on the new home. Yes, the same day! Thankfully, she took after her momma and was late for her birth date. We had enough time to hang blinds, hook the washer and dryer up, and set up the crib. 

And so, the next chapter began with us creating a new home to dream and grow, again not perfect, but bursting with potential.

-Joni

When We Built This HOME

When we built this home in 2005, we thought we were building the backdrop for a very ordinary future.

At the time, ordinary sounded wonderful.

We imagined busy mornings getting the girls ready for school, scraped knees from backyard adventures, basketballs bouncing in the driveway, and muddy shoes kicked off at the door. We pictured birthday parties, sleepovers, Christmas mornings, and evenings spent on the deck watching the kids and dogs play in the yard.

We were building more than a house.

We were building the place where our family would grow up.

After leaving our little green bungalow, the one that held our newlywed years, our first baby, our first heartbreaks, and dreams, this home felt like the next big chapter. Bigger rooms. More space. Room to stretch into the future we imagined waiting for us.

And for a while, life unfolded just as we had hoped.

The girls filled the rooms with laughter and noise. Puppies ran through the yard chasing bunnies. We planted flowers and built gardens that changed with every season. Summers were spent outside until the lightning bugs came out. Winters brought movie nights, board games, and blankets piled high on the couch.

The house became layered with life.

Fingerprints on walls.

School papers on the refrigerator.

A pantry somehow always empty despite constant grocery trips.

The familiar sounds of footsteps moving from room to room.

It felt safe here.

But life has a way of rewriting stories when you least expect it.

In 2008, just three years after moving in, Ava was diagnosed with cancer.

Suddenly this home became something entirely different than what we had planned.

The kitchen counters once cluttered with homework and snacks held medication schedules and stacks of paperwork. Sleepless nights became routine. Fear moved in quietly and stayed far longer than anyone could imagine.

There were moments I looked around these walls and barely recognized the life we were living.

And yet, these walls held us together.

This home became the place where we learned what real strength looked like. It witnessed exhaustion, heartbreak, anger, courage, and a kind of love that only grows fiercer when life becomes fragile.

There were hospital bags packed near the door.

Late-night talks whispered in the dark.

Tears shed quietly after everyone else had fallen asleep.

But there was laughter too.

So much laughter.

Because Ava, even in the hardest moments, still brought light with her wherever she went.

And life, somehow, continued alongside the hard.

Birthdays were celebrated.

Christmas mornings still arrived.

The dogs still caused chaos.

The flowers still bloomed every spring whether we felt ready for them or not.

The trees we planted when we first moved in kept growing taller year after year, stretching toward the sky while we were simply trying to make it through another day.

When Ava passed away in 2017, the silence inside this house covered everything like a heavy blanket.

There are no perfect words for what it feels like to walk through rooms filled with memories of someone you love so deeply. For a long time, every corner held echoes. Some comforting. Some unbearable.

The people who first moved into this house in 2005 no longer existed in the same way.

Grief changes you.

Love changes you too.

But over time, something unexpected happened.

The sadness never disappeared, but it has softened a bit to make room for gratitude beside it.

Because this house did not only witness loss.

It witnessed an extraordinary life.

It witnessed sisters laughing until they cried.

Friends gathered around kitchen counters.

Dogs growing old at our feet.

Games played in the yard.

Gardens blooming year after year.

Ordinary Tuesdays that now feel sacred in hindsight.

This home held our family through both the best and hardest parts of life.

And despite everything, it still feels safe here.

A home is never just drywall and wood.

Sometimes it becomes the keeper of your story.

Not perfect.

Not untouched by sorrow.

But still overflowing with love.

-Joni