The first house Rockford and I lived in was under constant renovation. His grandparents had recently purchased a house that was just a few minutes from the school we were attending, and they offered to let us live there until we graduated and moved to wherever Rockford would be going to graduate school. We lived there for five months, and we got to know the guys working on the house pretty well. It was rent-free, though, and we’re still grateful for that.

Our second home was an apartment that I’d only seen online before our move-in day. Now I think that was probably a little naive, not to at least ask someone from Rockford’s new school to go check it out or something. Happily, it looked pretty much like it did in the pictures. The complex had tennis courts and a little three-hole golf course (where Rockford laughed while I was attacked by geese), and I still think of that apartment as our first home together. It was also the place where I hunkered down and watched every episode of “Newhart” while I waited for somebody, anybody to hire me.

The apartment complex was nice enough, but we soon grew weary of our series of heavy-footed neighbors upstairs.

So we sought out something that wasn’t an apartment. We found a duplex on the other side of town. It was a little run-down, but it was within walking distance of some great restaurants and an awesome swimming pool, and it had a rather nice back yard. The duplex was the first place we were able to paint. It was the first place where we had our own pets — Marsha T. Cat and JJ, who now lives in Philadelphia. And it was Poppy’s first home. (Which means it was also where this blog was born, albeit under a different URL.)

Our next move was a debacle that ended with us moving in with Rockford’s parents for a month. It took me awhile to get over that mess, so I’m not going to talk about it further. (The debacle. Not the moving-in-with-the-parents. That was fine.)

Shortly after that, we moved into an apartment in a building that in its former life had been a cotton mill. It had gloriously high ceilings and giant windows that looked out onto a river. It was a beautiful apartment, but it was about half an hour away from anything at all. So we decided to move into town. We found a nice little bungalow-style apartment that was on the city’s bus line and within walking distance of quite a lot of stuff. I was about 7 months pregnant with He Who Would Be Pete, and so we were unusually efficient in unpacking and settling in.

And so naturally that was when Rockford’s current company offered him a job. A job that would be based roughly five hours away. We were incredibly fortunate to have just signed a lease that included a 30-day no-questions-asked move-out clause. The management wasn’t thrilled when we told them that we’d be invoking it, but they honored it and we hastily repacked everything and moved again.

The moves from the duplex to Rockford’s parents’ house to the soaring ceilings to the little bungalow and finally to our first apartment in our current town took place over a period of about 15 months. That is a lot of packing and unpacking in a rather short period of time.

Our first place here was another standard-issue apartment. It was nice enough, except for the mice. My post-partum hormones and I couldn’t handle the mice, so we moved again. This time it was into the house we’re currently renting. If you’ve been keeping track, that’s five dwellings for little Poppy in her first three years. And then we stayed put for the next three years.

There are things I’m not crazy about in this house — the yard, for example — but the memories we have here are priceless. Pete had so many firsts here — birthday, Christmas, learning to walk. Poppy lost her first tooth here, and one of her best pals lives right next door. It’s been a good house for us. But it’s time to move on.

On Friday, Rockford and I finally reached a goal we’ve been striving toward for a long time: We bought a house.

We bought a house!

We started looking on July 9th, right after we got back from our Fourth of July trip. We all went to see the first possibility with our realtor, and then the kids and I saw three more while Rockford was at work. The first three we looked at were discouraging, at best. They were near the top of our price range, and they were in horrible shape. I really didn’t want to buy a lot of problems, so I was beginning to resign myself to renting for another year while we worked toward a higher price range. And then we went to the fourth house. I walked through the door, and I knew.

As we’ve moved from apartment to duplex to house, etc., I’ve been compiling a list of Things I Want in a House. I knew we’d have to make compromises once the time came to actually buy something, but I went ahead and wrote down everything. It was a lengthy list. I was prepared to whittle it down to “three bedrooms and indoor plumbing.” I didn’t know it when I first walked through the door and told the realtor “This is the one,” but this house? The house that we bought?

Everything. It has every last thing on my list.

I’m still a little stunned. And so, so very happy.