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It’s the third anniversary of moving into my house today. This was the scene three years ago on moving day–I’m not sure what’s going on with my hair, but I’m pretty sure I was thinking, “Holy shit what have I done WHEE!” 

I roped my family into helping me move. I think my dad is thinking exactly what I am here–minus the “WHEE!”–and my brother might be looking for an escape hatch in the oven:

But we got me moved in, I decorated, and then started doing even more permanent things:
Dad built me a pergola and the family helped me add all sorts of back landscaping (and even Christmas lights).

I panted a vine out front and a lavender hedge and have potted plants year-round.

And Toby and I have a place that is all ours.

The tag I use for posts about my house is “the precious,” as explained in this post. At least once a week I still look around and think, “Hey, this is mine. I earned it myself. I can do what I want to it. I can stay here as long as I want.” It’s a good feeling.