Today is the fifth anniversary of the day we closed on our house. This seems rather monumental to me.

Five years ago, although we were planning to live here long-term, I still couldn’t fathom living anywhere for five years. At that point, the longest we had lived anywhere was just over two years, and we had been in two different rentals for under one year each. Moving into the house was our fifth move in the five-and-a-half years we had been married, and as much as I hate moving, I was used to doing it every year or so. All that considered, you can see why putting down roots was completely foreign to me.

But, after having been in one place for five years, I can’t imagine having to move again. I’ve gotten used to having a (somewhat) stable neighborhood–our next-door neighbors have been the same the whole time we’ve been here, although other families on the street have come and gone. We’ve been going to the same church for four years, (also a record!), we know our mailman and the UPS delivery man. We know all of the shortcuts around town, have annual events we look forward to, and have an interest in what’s happening at the city council. In short, this isn’t just a house, but it’s our home, the place where our family belongs.

Turkey was asking me earlier this year how long we’ve lived here, and when I told him that it would be five years in October, he was impressed. He decided then that five years was a big deal, and said that our house should have a birthday cake. So today, for our house and for him, I’m baking a pumpkin cake, (it is an October birthday after all!), in honor of this milestone. And while doing so, I’m thinking how glad I am that I haven’t had to pack boxes in five years, and hoping I don’t have to do it again for a very long time!