Anyone who’s been through it, know that house hunting can be daunting. When we were searching, we looked at so many houses that I lost count. Every one of them right off the bat was a resounding “no.” We didn’t even find one any that were a contender for well over a year (sorry to our real estate agent). Eventually, we sat back down with our lender to reevaluate if we could finance more or if there were any other options to open up the field of houses. One of the first things suggested was to think about buying a multiple-unit house, because rental potential would increase the ceiling that we could borrow. After immediately saying “absolutely not”, we eventually warmed up to the idea and started looking at two-family homes, talking ourselves into the idea that we could live in one unit and rent the other.

After maybe two or three other houses that just didn’t fit the bill, we walked into the house we’d end up buying, and immediately fell in love. It had all the details I’d been drooling over in magazines and renovation-based TV shows for years: giant archways, detailed wood trim, crystal doorknobs, and those old hardwood floors. It also was occupied by a tenant that had more cats than I could count and a china cabinet full of clown dolls, but we were able to look past that thankfully. All we saw was unending potential for a price that made us very happy, and we were sold.

We eventually got an offer accepted, waited forever and a day to close and the tenants to vacate, and then we started working on cleaning and personalizing. In talking to the neighbors, we found out a little history of our home in addition to what we already knew. The house is over 110 years old. It was the neighborhood doctor’s office, where the doctor also resided initially. The metal railing in front of the house that we found so unique was actually intended to tie your horse up when you went in for an appointment. The house was eventually turned into a private home and had two additions put on over the years. We fell more in love with the house through the process of gearing up to move in, and my favorite feature of the house remained: the floors. I found an incredible amount of beauty in them, though room to room, they vary slightly and have flaws. The original portion of the home has ornate, cherry finished floors, while the second addition has wide plank, pine, with almost a farmhouse feel. There’s paint splatter here and there, and there’s signs of wear and some scratches, but to me, they were perfect.

This changed when one of our first visitors to the house walked into our kitchen and asked when we were going to redo our “awful” kitchen floor. When my husband told me about the comment, I tried to brush it off after a few curse words in response, but it got in my head. I started obsessing over the “imperfections” of our floors that had previously been perfect to me. I spent an excessive amount of time trying to scrub that old paint off and bought every hyped up floor cleaner and polisher to try and make them shine again. It snowballed into noticing one thousand “problems” around the house. Wall colors had to change. Trim had to be painted. Eventually our tenants moved out and we decided to start living in the house as a one-family, because we were trying to have a baby. Our attention shifted to the upstairs apartment, with a million new projects and problems. Eventually, we found out that I was pregnant and had a nursery to create. Then we got the surprise of our lives when we found out about the twins, and had two nurseries to create.

Little-by-little my excitement about the house came back. Seeing the two rooms that would house my two newborns come together brought a whole new outlook on the house. Eventually we brought our sweet little babes home and had to think about those drafty old windows and running up and down all those stairs every time one of us needed a drink, but it all fell into place. I don’t think it really clicked, though, until the babies became more mobile and we started spending so much time sitting on those floors, watching our babes wade through the steps between rolling, crawling, and walking. All of those paint splatters were likely years and years of indecision between family members as they decorated their living rooms, dining rooms, and nurseries. All those scratches are from furniture shifting as families came and went, walkers sliding across the floor as every baby who lived in the house found their feet, and toy cars being dragged across them as siblings played on the floor, imaginations running wild. Some of those paint splatters and scratches are from our family doing the same. When my perspective changed on “perfection” as I watched my two greatest accomplishments scratch my floors, my love for this old house came back ten times over. Someday we’ll leave this house and we’ll leave behind our fair share of “problems” for someone else to eventually deal with, I’m sure. But our memories will be a part of this house too, like the 110+ years of those before us. Someday, someone will look at our boring gray paint splatters and wonder what we were thinking. Someone will curse under their breath at the gouge our daughter left in the floor when she dragged her wooden doll highchair across it, even though we told her not to 85 times. Eventually, these floors might be sanded, stained, and refinished, but hopefully they’ll never be replaced, as you just can’t put this kind of history, memories, and love into new floors.

You can only find them in old floors.