Snagging

When we first moved in, back in May last year, the feeling occupied a weird space between satisfaction and … snagging… a lot of snagging (that’s what the process of checking a new building for minor faults is called).

Satisfaction that we had reached such a beautiful milestone and completed the move in one piece, despite the movers being outraegusly late. The reality that, although ‘ready’, the house wasn’t done.

A great example of said snagging is discovering the day before we moved in that a crucial bit of plumping that takes wastewater from our kitchen, guest loo and basement utility room was broken. There was some disagreement about whose fault it was, but who cared, moving in and not being able to comfortably turn on a tap wash dishes and hands without fear of a smelly overflow is never ideal. There was also a funny smell coming from the utility room that wasn’t exactly welcoming, and patio tiles and living room walls that still needed fixing after the disastrous mess made while laying the concrete floor on the ground floor…. I could go on, but you get the picture. Snagging.

Ignoring the nagging snagging, the first few months felt incredibly surreal. Eating, sleeping, simply existing in a space we had built up from the ground, from paper to brick, coming to terms with the decisions and compromises we made along the way… it left me awestruck at times.

Then, as the newness of the space slowly wore off, and our daily motions became more familiar, we started to feel less like we had overpacked for a stay in a nice Airbnb 10 minutes from our flat. This was really our home.

We’d come so far, we did that. Yes, there was/is still SO MUCH to do, but we did THAT. I’m proud of us and the team that made it all possible. I hope the shiver I get when I round the corner of our road and catch a glimpse of our house never goes away. I pray I never take this for granted.