Four and a half years ago, my little family of five moved into the “barn” on my grandparents land. The barn consisted of a large room, a workshop and a drive through space with two smaller, unattatched rooms upstairs. No plumbing, no kitchen, little furniture. In the first four months, Marc put in a small kitchen and a bathroom so that I would no longer have to haul water in and cook on a camp stove, and so that we could retire the little camping potty we had used up ’till then.
As money came in, and as Marc had time, we took little steps toward turning the barn into a house. Once we had bathroom and kitchen, we spent a couple of years sleeping in the rooms upstairs, and using the outside staircase to get to the rest of the house (the rest of the house being a small kitchen with a couch and table in it, and bathroom in the back). Baby number four was born in the unfinished bathroom, and crammed into the upstairs with the rest of us. While I was pregnant with baby number five, we made a great leap. Marc enclosed both the drive through and the workshop, turning it into a house. He gave me a master bedroom (the man loves me) and a living room of sorts. We moved everyone downstairs and put the upstairs remodel on hold. For the last year, the kids (all four of them) have had a “bedroom” in half of the living room, with a screen dividing the space.
Another year passed, and now Marc has completed the last major leg of our gigantic project. We now have stairs inside the house, the kids are moved into bedrooms upstairs (which are colorfully painted and decorated) and I have an honest to goodness house. Only small things remain, like tile in the shower, baseboards and trim, and the swamp cooler installed (it has been hot here, like over 100 degrees hot, so that last one should be soon…).
The man loves me. He built me a nest. Chirp, chirp.