We moved at the end of August, at which point I proceeded to break all previous land-speed records for unpacking and nesting.
Not only was everything was unpacked within 48 hours, but furniture, closets, and bookshelves were arranged to my OCDesque satisfaction, windows filmed to filter out brutally sunny afternoons, and 90% of our artwork was hanging on the walls by mid-September. Did I mention that I managed to get a crew of painters to repaint everything, including ceilings and some doors by September 4?
By the end of October, I'd already dealt getting the kitchen garbage disposal, the garage door opener motor, and rotting porch column replaced. I personally yanked out a choked mess of vines and shrubbery from the front patch of garden and installed window blinds. Naughty words involved with these projects.
I've cooked some fabulous meals on our heavy-duty 5-burner stove which, despite being uber-upscale, is not self-cleaning. That job is scheduled during a writing break this coming week.
Many loads of laundry have been washed, dried, and folded. Garbage and recycling have been dutifully dragged to the curb. At some point, we'll haul out of the attic all the crap that had been left by the previous owner and bagged by me. House closing pro tip: check the attic during your walk through.
This is not an especially old townhome but the stairs and floors sure do make it seem that way.
When we first moved in, I was in a state of near-perpetual aggravation because of creaking wood and whining doors. I could easily hear our 10-pound cat padding around two floors down; couldn't traverse the living room without generating a chorus of floor squeaks. Forget about sneaking down the stairs for a 2:00 AM stealth snack.
Yesterday at sundown, as I wandered through the living room to close window shades and turn on table lamps, I noticed how house sounds seemed more comfortingly familiar than irritating. The next light that turned out was the one in my brain -- our house is beginning to feel like home.