Sergio kept walking by me, muttering something hardly intelligible as he paced the lot – something that sounded like “we’re really doing this…we’re building a house…”. Make no mistake. He’s excited.
This idea of building our dream home has been in my phone for at least 8 years, taking shape in a silly app that eventually was converted into real house plans. Every time I needed to cope with an 80 hour work week, a heartbreaking ICU shift, or missing yet another bedtime family prayer while on the road to becoming a pediatrician, I moved a wall, added a window, or stretched out an archway in the app.
I don’t want to over-dramatize it, but that’s generally how I roll. Walking through the land where we will soon break ground, I was thinking only about how we’re finally here, about to start the process. When I was a kid (oh hell, we’re going way back now), my parents let us know we’d be building our dream house some day. I wanted to help, so I recall drawing a “blue print” on a half sheet of yellow poster board. I’ve held the belief since then that the big you-made-it moment as a family is building your own home.
My other pressure to build this house is self-imposed, as I feel like I owe it to this amazing little family of mine for dragging them through medical school and pediatric residency. I can’t tell you how amazing my husband is, so I’ll illustrate it with an example: just today we hosted a Grand Rounds speaker at our clinic and in one of my too-frequent last-second requests, I asked Sergio to bring a coffee traveler and sweets to clinic for the event. He dutifully showed up with pan dulce and cafecito right on time. See? Empanadas! He needs a house!
The last thing this house represents is permanency. I moved here in December 2004, hesitantly following a guy who needed to be near his family and this Land of Enchantment. He was not my husband at the time, not even my fiance. But I’m the girl who prays for signs, and the signs said to come here and give it a chance. Excessively long story short, giving it up to God has paid off and I’m forever grateful for ending up here. And yet I’ve never felt settled; I have no family near me except those I delivered or married, and we’ve been serial renters since moving out of our crackhouse (another excessively long story). It’s time our little family had our own, permanent place.
Today at three o’clock we signed the closing paperwork on the construction loan. I left work to meet Sergio at the title company and without knowing, we both showed up a full half hour early. We sat in my car together, excited and giddy, talking about the latest decisions on brick floors, subway tile and ponderosa pine corbels.
Time to stop changing my mind about effin’ floors and countertops! We’re really doing this!