My husband Rob and I built a house. We built this house on his family’s land next to the house we were living in. The home we shared was small and cramped and had some pretty serious problems. It is the home his father grew up in, and it’s cozy and has so much character. That home holds family history, and Ember spent two happy years there. But it was becoming increasingly difficult for me to work from home and for Ember to have some space to be loud and to move. I worked from a cramped corner of the house, and I felt trapped and worried about Ember’s noise invading my calls and meetings. I dreaded bringing another baby into that house since we were already crammed in there. We had a few functioning rooms and one bathroom. No one had any privacy. Mold was growing in the downstairs room where I worked. But I knew we were building a bigger, custom home that would be everything we wanted, and that helped me remain sane.

While building, Rob and I both worked full-time jobs, and I was pregnant with Ivy for much of it. We juggled jobs, an active toddler, and then we added a newborn into the mix. We hit pretty much every snag you can hit along the way. You name it, we dealt with it: loan issues, surveying problems, contractor fails, family drama, money issues, weather crises, budget complications…I could keep going. We were delayed more often than we made progress, or at least it felt like it. We could see the new home taking shape right next door to us, and it was torture. The new house was all we wanted but just out of reach.

At one point, Rob and I were working in the new house together before it was finished. I was headed up the stairs to do something in one of the girl’s rooms, and I stopped and looked at him. I asked him, “do you think we’re ever going to live here?” He paused and then I knew he was an uncertain as I was. His response was that he hoped so, but we the truth is we were both unsure; we’d hit so many setbacks that we feared having too much hope about its completion. Our house had become this project we worked on and dreamed about. It was this big, beautiful creature looming next door to us, but it didn’t seem like it was going to be a reality. It didn’t seem real. I honestly didn’t know if the house would become a reality, if we’d ever live there, if our family could endure the constant waiting and all the setbacks.

During this time, I pretty much lost my mind. There was so much drama and tension. Family and family friends were involved both in the money aspect and in relation to the building. This added a layer of complication that I was unprepared for. I remember crying at my in-laws’ house when we discovered that we had to find a new framer for our house. It was the end of summer and stifling hot, and I was about 7 months pregnant and massive. I loathe crying in front of people, and there I was, the sobbing pregnant woman who can’t keep her emotions in check. I was desperate for progress. I’d been clinging to the dream of the new house to cope with my unhappiness.

But the worst was when Rob and I were on maternity and paternity leave after Ivy’s birth. I really fell into a black hole during those days. Rob spent most of the day next door at the new house while I cared for the girls at home. We were both stressed and tired, and we resented the other for not understanding the difficulties we faced each day. He’d come home covered in construction dust or cement or glue, and he was bone tired. He tiled and laid flooring. He worked on the plumbing and painted. He did so much work at our new house, and he’d come home to a nursing mother who had had a newborn and toddler clinging to her all day. We both needed showers and space and understanding. But it was so hard to see past our own problems to consider the other’s.

Our communication was at an all-time low. We uttered quick updates to one another and then kept moving, two shift workers sharing necessary communication before going in totally opposite directions. Our relationship needed some serious TLC. I remember telling my mother at one point that my marriage wasn’t in a great place, and that was one of the hardest realities I had to face.

But we had a breakthrough one day, and though it was a painful day for both us, it was needed. We started repairing and rebuilding that moment. And something else emerged during this painful time: no matter what setback or drama we faced, we vowed to be a united front. And we were. We dealt with everything together. We talked about it all, even the hard stuff, and we made decisions together. (My favorite was the night we downed stiff bourbon cocktails hunkered down in front of his computer to order lights and ceiling fans with reckless abandon.) We refused to sacrifice our marriage to get this damn house built. Our unity was more important than anything else, and as long as we stayed together, we knew we could make it through anything.

We moved in summer of 2019, about a year after we broke ground. Our move-in was unexpected, as we thought we had to wait for our driveway to be paved and for grass seed to be planted. We were granted early access, thanks to a kind person with some pull in our city. In true Temkiewicz fashion, we blazed in here all speed and brute force. We moved in with nothing planned or packed or organized. And who cared? The first night we slept here, I felt like I was living someone else’s life. I squeezed Rob as hard as I could. We did it.

Sometimes even now I cannot believe I live in this house that we both helped created (mostly Rob). The other night, I headed up the same staircase to grab the girls’ pajamas, and I stopped and looked down into the living room. Rob was reading to the girls, and there were blocks and books and toys everywhere. The dogs were both curled up on blankets. The kitchen lights glowed and it was dark and peaceful outside. The house was warm and full of our noise and our love. And I felt so grateful, and so appreciative for what we have. So many helped us along this journey, and I will never fully be able to express my gratitude. If you’re reading this and helped us in any way, please know I don’t have the words to tell you how much I appreciate you. And to my husband, YOU did this. YOU built this home, and I will be grateful forever.

When I look around, I see that we’ve made this place our home in a hurry. The windows and mirrors are covered with sticky toddler finger and handprints. The kitchen floor has scratches already; the walls have quite a few dings (Ember likes to work like Daddy and has been caught digging tools into the walls). The front door has had more than its share of wet dog noses pressed into it, and some paint already needs touching up. Our back deck isn’t finished, the closets have no rods or shelving, and this place is always a total toy and book disaster. You definitely don’t have to take off your shoes when you enter our home.

We built a house, and then we transformed it into our home, the space where we’d live and grow. This place, it’s real, and it’s ours. It’s HOME.