Scars

My house has scars.

Yours probably does, too.

We had this house built from the ground up.  For weeks (that lingered into months) I labored over decisions and agonized over choices that–in the grand scheme of things–don’t matter much: corian or granite, maple or cherry, Plush or Berber.

At the time, I couldn’t help but focus on the semi-permanent outcome of my decisions.  This was to be our home–forever.

Five years later I’m not quite as convinced on the forever part.  Still though, it is our home.  I’m still living with the choices I made back then.  And goshdarnit, they matter!

Or do they?

This house (for which I practically signed my life away) started out flawless.  The walls were coated only with perfect texture and paint.  The concrete floors shined pristine.  The cabinets and carpet were unmarked–brand spankin’ new.  Even the furniture came straight from the warehouse.

Much has changed.

See for yourself…

Scars.

Lots of ’em.

Many a wooden surface in our house has fallen victim to a cotton ball, soaked in nail polish remover.

The once shiny concrete floors have been scratched and marred by a little boy’s toys.

There was the soap dish in the shower that was waylaid when a certain young lady attempted to prop her leg up for a better shaving angle.

A bathroom counter that remains forever smeared True Berry Red.  {I ought to outlaw nail polish and its associated products}.

The crop circle-esque marking on our kitchen cabinetry.  Now when he uses a drill, the phrase, “measure twice, cut once” will forever echo in my husband’s head.

Oh yes.  And then there is our lovely gap-toothed chair.  Somehow Jayce managed that one before he could even walk.  He taught me early the differences between girls and boys.

Scars.

Each with a story.  A memory.  A little something to laugh about now.

For a long while I held out hope for a house that wouldn’t get “messed up.”  And while you won’t find me inviting destruction anytime soon, I can honestly say that these little scars no longer leave me needing to count to ten.  Each scar is sort of like a lasting impression of a time gone by, never to pass again.

Little hands.  Chubby, accident-prone fingers.  Minds that knew no better.

Scars: an unavoidable part of turning a house into home.

15 Replies to “Scars”

  1. I have tried to keep that attitude in my home. It is just not worth the trouble to try to keep everything pristine. We were given a table and chairs a couple of years ago and at first I tried to keep marks off of it and stuff, but that’s no fun. I like that my house says a family lives here.

  2. Amen, Amen, AMEN!!! I’m sure you know it already, but this post makes me heart feel happy. I so totally agree. Every scar is part of the story of you – and it’s a great story.

  3. I love this, because well, it’s awesome. But I also love it because I almost didn’t post a picture of my bathroom the other day, as you can clearly see a hole in the door. Then I realized that the hole is from an overenthusiastic three year old shoving the door open and although we’ll replace it someday… it’s a pretty good reason for a hole in a door.

  4. I always tell friends that I want my house to look like a home not a museum. I like it tidy but scars of lives lived well are important to a home! Each one has a story. Love this post! It reminds me to take a second look at the furniture I was thinking needed to be replaced due to certain scars. :) I’ll savor the memories instead and save money too!

  5. I love this. What a great reminder of the importance of living in a house which makes it a home. I sometimes long for a house with the all white living room and the long glass dining room table and long pink curtains on my windows….but then I look around at the toys and the stacks of kids books on the couch and feel so blessed.
    Thanks for this. I’m gonna go look at a few of our scars and smile!

  6. Kudos to you for embracing all the little things that will forever stir up memories for you.
    I still have a little swirl of concealer on the side of the vanity drawer (courtesy of my DS) that I have left there for ummm about 9 yrs now ;)

  7. How funny, I came here to make a comment…and Becca took the words right out of my mouth. I learned that years ago (and obviously taught her) that they ARE love marks. And I bet you remember (almost) how every one was put there. I purchased, two years ago, the house I grew up in from my siblings after my Mom and Dad passed away. Although we refinished the first floor to make it handicapped accessible for my Mom sometimes I just go from room to room and remember things – special things that were done and said and in our downstairs bath there are scratches on the wall made from my Mom’s walker – I have not painted that room yet. And I probably won’t for a while.
    So, Darcie, they are LOVE MARKS that someday you will look back on with very fond memories. Love marks left on your heart.

  8. Last year we bought a 90-year-old home in a quaint little neighborhood. You know, the charming kind with lots of character. The kind they don’t make anymore with their engraved staircases and one-foot baseboards and coved ceilings and arched entries. But the biggest charm, for me anyway, is that the house has been lived in. Really lived in. And loved.

    Great post!

  9. I am a father and I always want my 3 year old son to be very careful with everything but after reading your post, I guess he can scratch everything he can reach except my computer monitor and car hehe…

  10. Most of which, may i say, were caused by none other than…
    Miss Torri Rees, please stand.
    I just counted she caused…
    1,2,3,
    Yep.THREE.
    Seriously?!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.