What a difference a month makes! Over the last few weeks, my perspective on our new home has steadily shifted: from a feeling of dislocation (and frenetic energy to make it less so) to a feeling of almost total peace and contentment. Yes, there are still things I’d like to do over time, and there is still artwork leaning against the wall and a bin of things to give away, but in the midst of it all I feel at home. While it’s tempting to attribute this cozy, settled feeling to the familiar Christmas decorations that now surround us, this shift predated them all. Time, and the way it makes space for rational sense to take root, definitely played a role. What made the biggest difference, however, was two things: the gentle encouragement from those around us to embrace this in-between stage (including many of you in the comments – truly, it made an impact!) and welcoming loved ones into our home. In November alone we hosted three families for dinner, a pair of pals for post-kid-bedtime chatting, and the inaugural Articles Club at our new address (not to mention neighborhood friends crashing in and out on a regular basis). While these gatherings revealed a few gaps (fitting ten in our dining room was a tight squeeze!), they much more so shone a spotlight on all the best parts of our new home: the kitchen island it’s so easy to gather around, the flat cul-de-sac and big backyard that so safely allow kids to run and play, the aerie-like loft that so generously houses our kids as they stretch out and create. Our friends’ presence and encouragement allowed me to see our home through their eyes — to see what I couldn’t quite yet see on my own — and

Hello, friends! This last month has held multitudes. We spent the first half packing up our first home and the second half settling into our new home. We weathered the news of the original buyers backing out – and went under contract with new buyers – all while the movers shuttled our belongings between houses (a wild day). We’ve now met every neighbor on our cul-de-sac. We have loved walking to school most days. I have thoroughly enjoyed the process of purging, tossing on-the-fence items with glee and freedom. Our maple out the front windows has been ablaze and an abundance of squirrels are frolicking in the backyard with abandon. Megan McArdle once wrote about how young adults setting off on their own subconsciously expect to start at their parents’ standard of living – which is, of course, the standard their parents ascended to over a lifetime, and likely far from where they started as young adults. They want to shop at the same stores, eat the same foods, take the same vacations, and live in the same sort of house with the same sort of furnishings. When their budget or circumstances don’t allow them to continue in “the style to which they’ve become accustomed,” they can feel cheated. John and I had (and have) plenty of failings, but this was not one. I’ve written before about how we mostly reveled in our scrappy phase, that time of our lives when cardboard boxes were our coffee tables and splitting a Chipotle burrito was a grand night out. I’ve been thinking about this idea a lot lately, wondering about its relevance to my current predicament. I find myself impatient that our home does not feel like us, that it does not feel “finished.” Which, when I write it out, seems absolutely

The other day John and I were talking about what we’ll miss most, physically, about this home, our first home, and my answer was our front porch. It’s unusually deep, perched well above street level and tucked behind a mature tree. Shady and private enough to work from on even the hottest summer days, it also played host to dinner parties, friend hangs, and tables set for Articles Club. On its sturdy boards we carved pumpkins, played in the sand box, read chapter books aloud, ate lunch, set up the chess board, spit cherry pits over the railing, waited on siblings to return from play dates and grandparents to arrive from the airport. The string lights were magic; the wreaths hanging on the gates each December, a source of deep personal satisfaction. And I can still feel exactly what it was like to sit cross-legged under the spinning fan, cooing at baby June as she learned to roll on a soft blanket. We’d head out there after work and daycare and just chat — for an hour, easy. That porch was an aerie, a world unto itself in the most ordinary of places. While the glorious view below will not always be ours, the sweetness will be. On my calendar:— Seeing The Sound of Music with June! After a few false starts for her “experiential” 2024 Christmas gift, this is where we landed. We are both so excited for a night at the theater together.— Our fall family mountain trip, this year to Boone. We’ve had more trips than usual to WNC in the last few months but you won’t catch me complaining. These mountain weekends are always some of the sweetest of the year for our family.— A weekend in New England! I’m flying to a dear friend’s baby

Big update over here, friends: we are under contract to buy a new house. !!! This came to pass in a quite unusual and stressful manner, because the house went on the market while we were in Maine. (Our realtor, to boot, was also on vacation.) We submitted our offer on Sunday night, learned there were multiple offers and submitted a new offer (and then another one) on Monday, and finally found out our offer was accepted on Monday night. We came home on Wednesday night and saw the house for the first time on Thursday night. While we hadn’t stepped foot inside, we were familiar with the house – it is in our same neighborhood, right around the corner from one of Shep’s buddies, and is one we had had our eye on for over a year. It checks a lot of our boxes – cul-de-sac location, flat driveway, separate dining room, bigger backyard, space for an office, even the possibility of a mudroom – and we are super grateful. That does not mean that the last few weeks have been without challenges. I wish I could say we’ve been uniformly blissful and brave, but alas I am a person who deeply dislikes change. In addition to staying on top of the piles of paperwork required to buy and sell a home – as well as fixing things up around our current home, coordinating completion of the rest of the punch list, streamlining our belongings and beginning to pack what remains – I’ve been on a bit of an emotional roller coaster. I am excited, of course, and grateful, but also fearful of leaving the security of our current corner of the neighborhood and all the good we have here, fearful of something “better” coming on the market in