Along with the big binder of endless papers we spent an eternity signing, she slid over a padded envelope with our address on it. Within it were four keys; one big, silver key, and three smaller copies. All attached to a ring, all opened the doors to our new home.
My hands were moist with nervousness as I fumbled with the keys in my hand, slipping them onto my key chain. I hung them from my fingers for a minute, admiring them like a set of new diamond earrings, except even more precious. Keys to my home.
The house was a flurry of activity, as movers wielded heavy boxes of our belongings into rooms, watching furniture wheel in on dollies, as landscapers shoveled and heaved and laid sod, planting our gardens and lawn.
In the blink of an eye, it became quiet. Boxes sat silent, furniture in the wrong places, gardeners and movers gone. We sat in our house, listening to the walls and to the air-conditioner, hissing sweet coolness in our house.
Over a week’s passed since the first turn of our shiny silver key, and 90% of the boxes are unpacked and gone, and finishing, perfecting touches are being made to each room. Many, many trips are being made to this store, or that shop, to pick up what’s needed and remains to be completed; all acts of making this brand new house our home.
I wake up to the ceiling fan above me, standing and seeing the morning sun cascading in rainbows from the decorative glass from the front door. There isn’t much in this house that I haven’t fallen head-over-heels in love with.
Preparing coffee in my now-spacious kitchen, sipping it on my new front porch, as the sprinklers weigh our new sod down with water, breathing in the morning Texas air, ready to take on yet another day of prepping this house.
Sometimes, I almost can’t believe it - we’re officially homeowners now.