THE FARMHOUSE

Well slap me silly, the Holbrooks have a house. A farmhouse. With apple green shutters.

It may not be my Farmhouse on D (not on the market, cry me a river), but minus three horses not named Estelle, it is very nearly the next best thing and we're all jazzy, tucker + bonita up in here.

She comes with three bedrooms, a pink bathtub (eeeep!), a small eat-in kitchen (heavy on the black and white flooring, a little sparse on the cabinetry), hardwood floors throughout, and an overgrown yard with a chicken coop out back. A red chicken coop. Huck has already named his future babies Tiny Tim and Tiny Cuddles. Clearly I've got some research to do (cluck cluck).

Now that it's in place, and we have our flights booked, and our moving company is settled, it suddenly feels so real that I'm surprised every morning when I wake up still in Brooklyn. Is it possible be in two places at once? I'm suddenly awfully homesick. I'm not entirely sure for where.

It's especially weird that it was exactly ten years ago to the day that we were preparing to move to Moscow from Brooklyn the first time around . . .

(Does my life feel like a game of ping pong?)

I think I've been subconsciously furnishing this farmhouse since the day I bought my first beat up wingback chair at the D.I. in Provo when I was in college. (I also bought vintage golf clubs that day. Why???) Setting up a house is my most favorite thing to do, and so on I go, pinning + dreaming + dinking around on Craigslist. It's a fun time to be me. :)

I'm thinking our third chicken will need to be named Linda.