What Really Makes A Home
Falling In Love With Our Home
When Ronnie and I decided to leave our life in downtown Chicago for a different pace and more space, we found the most extraordinary A-frame just five minutes from downtown St. Charles, on the happiest little hill, with our own pond, forest, and swimming pool. The moment I laid eyes on this place, I knew it was meant to be. I saw the life ahead of us flash before my eyes:
Sledding days down the back hill. Ice skating on the pond, with hot cocoa to follow in a little igloo I would set up. Long summer days in the pool. Summer nights on the back hill by the bonfire pit, passing a guitar around the circle, singing along. Snuggling under cozy blankets from the perch at the top of the house, watching the snow fall. Hearing the birds sing during spring. Watching the family of deer and geese raise their little ones in the spring, proudly marching their little families through our backyard.
And then, life got even better. We found out we were pregnant with Charlie, and all of a sudden those dreams became memories that we got to experience and witness through the life of our tiny human. Charlie’s first bites of food, her first steps, her first words, followed quickly thereafter by her running around the house naked, dancing to her favorite songs, and working up the bravery to jump into the pool or dart down the hill in the backyard by herself.
Can A Home Love You Back?
Growing up, my mom would always say, “Don’t love things that can’t love you back.” And so I never thought I would love a place the way I have loved this one. Dare I say, this home has loved us back?
I love to write, and while I aspire to write an incredibly heartfelt film someday with original dialogue, I’ve found that Nancy Meyers really is the best in the game as it relates to pulling my heartstrings with her writing. George’s monologue at the beginning of Father of the Bride comes about as close as I can imagine to describing how I feel about this house—particularly this line: “I never want to move.”
But alas, we’ve made the exceptionally hard decision to do just that… move.
It’s a decision that has caused me endless days of tears. Tears of sorrow for the memories we’re leaving behind here, as well as the dreams that will never be manifest in this house. Now there are also tears of joy, knowing that with our expanding family, we’re making the best choice we know how to make (we’re literally making space for our sweet little baby number two). But shoot. It certainly doesn’t make it any easier.
As I’ve been coming to terms with this decision, digesting all of my emotions with each box packed and taped shut, Ronnie and George have shared some particularly useful pieces of advice I wanted to pass along—about what having a wonderful home does to your capacity to love, and more importantly, what really makes a home.
— Dialogue from the script of Father of the Bride, by Nancy Meyers.
What Does Loving a Wonderful Home Do to Your Capacity to Love?
On Mother’s Day 2025, smack dab in the middle of our timeline between putting in an offer on the new house and closing on the new house, I had a rare moment of stillness as Ronnie took Charlie for the morning so I could sleep in, drink my coffee in peace, and enjoy some me time. When he returned, he found me in a puddle of tears, crying and waffling yet again over the decision to move or not to move. Charlie went down for a nap, and Ronnie and I went out on our balcony to breathe in some fresh air and discuss how we were both feeling about the idea of leaving our beloved home behind. It was in this conversation Ronnie pointed out something that I will never forget. Through tears of his own, he said, “Maybe this house was brought into our lives to teach us just how much we were capable of expanding our capacity to love.”
Woof. I can hardly type those words without tears streaming down my cheeks. But I think that’s just it. People, homes, pets—anything we can truly fall in love with, and which can love us back—is leased to us for a limited time to expand our capacity to love. The stronger the love you feel for it, the bigger your heart gets. Your capacity to love actually expands with that love, which of course makes giving it up incredibly hard… that is, until the next thing comes along and expands you further. Your life is an endless journey of falling in love, expanding through that love, and then falling in love again. We get to love. As painful as it can sometimes be when you have to let that love go, we get to experience it and expand our hearts to hold bigger and bigger love until the day we die. And that’s pretty freaking magical.
Ronnie’s words will forever guide me to continue expanding my capacity to love.
What Really Makes A Home?
The more I spend time with Ronnie’s words, the more peace I have found in our decision to make this move, and the more I look forward to expanding my heart in our new space—with our new little human, our growing Charlie girl, and our deepening marriage. And while the tears do wash over me from time to time, I keep reminding myself that just like George, the thing I’ve loved most about this home “the voices I hear when I walk through the door.” And that will be even more true in our new home, when a new little voice graces us with her presence in our lives and in our family. After all, that’s what really makes a home… the people you share it with.
What’s Next for The Caldwells?
We’re packing up. We’re putting our magical A-frame on the market. And we’re moving far, far away. Just kidding. We’re staying in St. Charles, but moving to a beautiful home that backs up to the river, where we’ll not only be able to comfortably expand our family, but also expand our hearts and our capacity to love, have fun, and make the kinds of memories you can only make when your backyard is a boater and fisherman’s paradise. More photos, memories, and lessons learned coming soon from our new address.
