Story Time

Ok so here’s the story with the whole garage/house/loft thing for those of you who don’t know:

When my parents bought their property the city of Happy Valley wouldn’t let them put a mobile home on the property while my dad built the house (henceforth referred to as the “Big House”) so he built the “Little House” and we lived there while the Big House was under construction.  It’s about 1150 square feet (760ish downstairs and 390ish upstairs).  Upstairs was our bedroom.  And by “our” I mean everybody.  Mom and Dad had half while JJ and I had the other, plus Ariel when she came along.  Downstairs was the living room, dining room, play room, office, kitchen, laundry and bathroom.  We moved into the Little House just in time for me to start kindergarten.  Fast forward three and a half years.  We moved into the Big House and the Little House became mostly a garage (downstairs) and a loft (upstairs) for a guest bedroom and storage.  Fast forward fifteen more years.  After David graduated, I was able to transfer to the Portland branch of the bank where I worked in Idaho and we needed somewhere to live, at least until he found a job too.  With rent being so reasonable (read: virtually free), we’ve been able to pay off almost all of our car and student loans since we moved (THREE PAYMENTS LEFT! Not that I’m excited or anything…).  Now that we’re about to be debt free, we’re thinking about our next steps financial and thought well, if we keep doing what we’ve been doing (living in the garagehouse), we can keep all that money that was going towards the loans to do other things, like having a solid emergency fund and saving for our own house.  And then I looked at the shower one morning.  I mean REALLY looked at the shower.  Twenty years later, it is not as nice as it was brand new, especially with no one using it for those fifteen interim years.  And then I looked at the floor.  Same story.  And so, after receiving the official blessing from our very benevolent landlords (love you!), we decided to start remodeling.

The End.  Or really, just the beginning.  Ha, sorry, couldn’t help myself.

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