Jesse and I moved into our home four years ago. Being built in 1949 and my husband being the amazing carpenter he is, knew there were things he'd like to update and change. This guy I swear, never ceases to amaze me. He somehow takes my visions or ideas and turns them into a collaborated story of renovation and fixing up. We've painted walls, ripped out carpets and re-finished beautiful original hardwood floors hidden underneath. We've added a stone fireplace, windows, french doors and trim. Changed light fixtures, knocked down walls and basically made it ours in every way possible. It's a home that my husband has remodeled with his own hands. His blood, sweat and tears are in these walls. It's been a labor of love, a piece of him, our story.
This home has never been perfect, there have been days of frustration and moments we thought we were in over our heads. Times of sleeping on the floor and the occasional argument from exhaustion and mistakes. It's quirky and old, but this home has welcomed new life. We've grown from a family of two, to a family of four celebrating birthdays, first Christmases and everything in-between. I love this old house and I've come to learn that there is beauty hidden in all things.
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