"The Old Girl"

I’m not quite sure how to say this without sounding like one of those trite, “Live, Laugh, Love,” quotes found on mugs and t-shirts, but we have truly lived deeply in our little rented home on Newport Ave. This house was built in 1917 and I once heard our landlord refer to it affectionately as “the old girl.” Her affinity for this place matched my own sentiments as I thought about its history. And that is exactly what drew me to this place! Creaky stairs and all. This “old girl” has seen so much and has so many stories to tell. She was built in the midst of WWI; America had just declared war on Germany and women were converting flower beds to vegetable gardens to support the cause. She sheltered families through the heartache of two military drafts, the Great Depression, political uncertainties and social revolutions. She has celebrated countless birthdays, holidays, graduations, and homecomings. The Model T once parked in front is now a Toyota Camry, vacuum tube radios have given way to Alexa and the streetcar line that once ran past is now an HRT bus stop. Bedtime stories have been read, cakes have been baked, bills have been paid, and flowers have been given. Life has been lived here.

Matt and I celebrate our 9th anniversary this year. We are 30 years old with our whole lives ahead of us. But even though we are young and still at the beginning of our story, I know that we will forever look back on these past 3 years as formative ones.

Residency was an ominous thought when we started medical school. Those three years of 80 hour work weeks, high stress, and little sleep felt like a looming shadow to me--totally unknown except for the horror stories I read on the “Lives of Doctor Wives” Facebook page. And they were hard. Really, I have no intention of sugar coating the difficulties that were our daily reality here. But the thing is, we grew! We changed! My relationship with God has deepened, my marriage has been strengthened, Matt and I are better at communicating with each other and making decisions. Our children are growing and we are growing with them. Matt is well on his way to becoming a board certified pediatrician, confident in the things he has learned and eager to learn more. And that has all happened here.

All of the early mornings when I’ve been pulled from bed, desperate for another hour of sleep, by a crying infant or needy child. Matt leaving before sunrise and returning late in the evening, only to do it again for another week straight before getting another day off. Counting down the hours until bedtime with a fussy baby and a defiant toddler. These moments are interwoven with phone calls from family, joyful holidays, game nights with friends, Saturday morning pancakes, and watching stupid sitcoms all snuggled up on our loveseat because we couldn’t fit a couch in our tiny front room.

We have spent countless hours wandering our tree lined streets, playing on our porch, and soaking up the backyard before the mosquitoes descend from June to October. These wood floors have been covered by intricate webs of train tracks, elaborate Lego creations, and a fair amount of crumbs and spit up. Crying, laughing, learning, loving, hoping. Mourning the loss of loved ones and celebrating the miracle of new birth.

This has been a happy home before, it was our happy home for a brief moment, and it will be a happy home again. I have loved adding our story to these old walls.

'“After all," Anne had said to Marilla once, "I believe the nicest and sweetest days are not those on which anything very splendid or wonderful or exciting happens but just those that bring simple little pleasures, following one another softly, like pearls slipping off a string.”

― L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Avonlea