Happy Birthday, Thomas!

"After all these years of trying to keep them perfect, I finally understand what you mean."

In 2015, we were renovating the first house we ever bought together- a rundown 1950s mid-century modern. The house had great bones but required a lot of work, and it even came with raccoons living in the ceiling of the living room. One of the things we loved about the house was the hardwood floors throughout, but the downside was that they were stained, gouged, and cupped from years of neglect.

With a budget of $40K and a 2,200-square-foot fixer-upper to remodel, we dove into the grueling process of pouring our blood, sweat, and tears into it. To make things even more stressful, we were also planning our wedding. Between saving for the wedding and the renovation, our finances were tight. So, we decided to skip the big wedding plans and instead get married in the living room of the house.

We set a date and invited 10-15 close friends and family. The only problem? We still had to finish the house. One of the last tasks was refinishing the hardwood floors, which would take two weeks. Long story short, we pulled everything together and got married in front of our loved ones, surrounded by the home we had worked so hard to make our own.

Shortly after moving in, my obsessive need to keep the floors in perfect condition took hold. I was terrified of scratching or denting them. I swept daily, mopped several times a week, and only used warm water and cleaning vinegar, as recommended by the flooring company. To put it simply, I was a walking nightmare when it came to the floors, and I would lose it every time I saw a new imperfection.

You would always tell me how much you loved the imperfections, and I would roll my eyes in frustration. You insisted those imperfections were what made a house feel like a home. I never saw it that way and continued to obsess over every flaw. A few years later, we bought our next house, which, coincidentally, was your childhood home. It, too, had oak floors that had suffered years of neglect from the previous owner. We renovated that house and restored the wood floors.

I continued to struggle with keeping the floors perfect, and you kept reminding me to embrace the imperfections. Like the time our oldest used scissors on the floor and accidentally carved into it while cutting cardboard. Or all the times our dogs raced through the house, leaving claw marks behind. There were the wine glasses that shattered on game nights and holidays when loved ones (and us) had a little too much cheer; the high heel marks left by our moms; the time a reporter used a tripod with spikes to interview us about the HGTV pilot; the time we didn’t put a rug pad down in our bedroom, and the rug left a perfect rectangle etched into the floor; all the times the kids took (and still take) their scooters through the house for our downtown strolls; or even all the scuffs from when you rearranged the furniture while I was out running errands.

After all these years of trying to keep them perfect, I finally understand what you mean. I love you more than you’ll ever know, and I cherish all the imperfections we’ve had, have, and will create.

Happy birthday, my love.
Love, me.

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