Home is here.
Here in Québec, Canada, in a suburb of Montréal, on a small, quiet street of seven houses.
Home is here, the place where I grew my four beautiful children inside of me, the place where our family grew from being just a couple to being a family of six.
Home is this place. A place that is filled with laughter and tears, tantrums and hugs, anger and kisses, frustration and joy. A place filled with life. A place filled with love.
In this place, there are unending piles of laundry, toys littering the floor, a never ending supply of children’s masterpieces and the smell of home cooked meals. And memories. So many memories already recorded and so many more to come.
This is home.
You know, we’ve been living here about seven years now. It was a happy accident, really. We were living about 500 meters away in an apartment and had a small conflict with the owner of the building who took it upon herself to falsely accuse us of something. We decided to not renew our lease and my husband went for a long walk to clear his head. On his way back, he decided to turn onto a small street on a whim.
The “for sale” sign on the front lawn had just been installed when he walked in front of the house. As soon as he got back, we looked at the pictures of the house and called to book a visit. We fell in love with the place when we saw it and made an offer. The night we signed the contract was the night we conceived Charles – after 18 months of unsuccessful attempts.
Within the span of three months, we went from leasing an apartment, to needing to find a place to live within four months to becoming homeowners. I don’t typically put stock in fate, but I believe that this house was meant for us.
This is home.