A Home is a Series of Marks

I know which of my kids make the hole that that not-yet-sanded spackle is filling. I think I know why it’s there, and I know when.

That hole is part of what makes my house a home.

Recently, I asked a client how she was doing in her new home. Her response reflected something that I have long known my clients feel, but I’d never fully thought on that feeling.

Yep, we’re doing well! House doesn’t feel like home yet. I still think of it as (their) house. It might be the paint . . . . or maybe it just takes a bit more time.

My response

It’s home.

  • Paint something.
  • Drop something on a floor and make a new mark.
  • Give your kid(s) some paint and let her play on the carpet.
  • Lock yourself out … and find your way back in. 🙂
  • Leave the Christmas tree up too long.
  • Make a mark on the wall. And leave it.
  • Start measuring your kid. Or yourself. And marking that on the wall.

There’s a mark in my house that I look at every time I go downstairs. It’s where the guys who moved our mattress in scraped the wall. I’ve meant to touch it up. For about 4 years.

The piece of the wall where we measured our girls for 12 years. And counting.

The area of the floor where I dropped a knife and almost severed my toe (Martha Jeff is about 24 minutes from my house!)

A home is a lot of things to a lot of people. To me, it’s a place – one of many – in which we aggregate memories and feel safe.

Even when one of my kids puts a hole in the wall.

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