Consider these first few posts our time to settle in and get to know each other—I’ll start sharing renovation details, shopping sources, and interviews once the foundation has been laid. Please note that this is the 2nd of 3 free posts. I hope you’ll consider upgrading to a paid subscription, so you can see all my weekly posts and join the Homeward chats. From what I can see from our last conversation, you have fantastic things to share—and your stories are already giving me ideas for future posts and experts to feature!
I’m a planner. And a relentless improver. These traits make for smooth-running vacations, a fridge filled with food in all the right drawers, and a home that is cared for. They also make for a difficult person to live with, especially when you’re my husband Tad, and you’re usually pretty happy with the way things are. I fret over the fraying pillowcases. I get into the weeds about hotel options. Just when you’ve gotten used to where the cereal bowls are, I move them. Something is always in the works.  Sign of a serial home improver: paint swatches. Late in 2020, at the height of the pandemic, our twins were freshmen in high school, and I started thinking about our future. In three years our kids would be in college and our homelife and its obligations would shift. A new phase was coming; it was up to us if we wanted to embrace it.  Old things, new life: Recovered dining chairs and a comfy reading chair (aka my former nursing rocker), as well as a tabletop sanded down to matte sheen. New York City, where Tad and I have lived for a combined half century, was weighing on me. I moved here in 1997 for a job at The New York Times. That was my chance to make it—and I hustled. After a decade, I left the Times to start a company, something that required multiples of hustle. I love my work, but, after more than 20 years, New York City had come to represent a place where I slept and worked and did little else. And its winters seemed increasingly cold, dirty, and long. The city’s charms recede when you don’t have time to access them.  From cribs to bunkbeds in the kids’ room (the den before they were born); and a grown-up bedroom for the adults several years in the making. Tad and I had also only lived in one place together. We’re attached to our home in Brooklyn, a second-floor apartment in a small brownstone co-op—but that attachment has been severely tested. (You can read about how we survived squirrels in our ceilings—and then our bedroom; squirrels and rats fighting in our kitchen; clothing moths in our closets; bed bugs in our kids’ room; and pigeons pooping all over our deck. You may well decide that we’re insane—enjoy!). The apartment’s floors are mostly wood, some of it old and charming, all of it in a patchwork of styles, with nailheads that keep having to be hammered down. The windows are large and original, aka drafty and impossible to open. The heat is controlled by a dial in the basement, in a boiler room that looks like a dungeon. To reach it you have to go outside and undo a janky padlock on an iron gate—something Tad dutifully does whenever we can no longer stand the heat/chill.  The walls of Tad’s study went from crimson to navy (note the paint swatches!), but a lot of the furniture stayed the same. Also, our apartment, which was billed as a three-bedroom, is more like a two-bedroom with extra-large closets. Our co-op board noted that no family had lived in the apartment for more than 5 years because they always outgrew it. Well, we sure proved them wrong! Doing so has meant we’ve played musical chairs with the rooms, making them work for whichever new stage we were in. What is now my study has been, at various times, a room for two cribs, a room for our kids to do arts and crafts, and our daughter’s bedroom when she was a tween. But now, with the prospect of our kids no longer being at home, we’d need to start considering how we might live differently—and design differently. Maybe even in a different time zone.  One stoop, two growing twins. I began to dream of having an actual pulled-together house in a warmer climate, a place we could go during the cold months, a place that was beautiful and unscarred by associations with decades of hard work. A place that would mark a new phase of our life and keep us evolving. Tad was open to the possibilities—and he began quietly bracing for my planning mode, which can make the Normandy Invasion look relatively spontaneous.
I didn’t realize this until later, but as much as I was yearning for a new environment, I was also craving a creative project. I like building. I like making. There is no more comprehensive form of self-expression than creating a home.  Gallery walls are a great place to unleash your inner improver. For this new place to become a reality, we’d need a year (minimum!) to find and buy a house. Any place we could afford would likely need work, so we’d need another year to plan the renovation—at least I would; home decisions have a long tail—and a year or more to complete the project. By my math, if we wanted to have a house ready to go once our kids went off to college, then we were already behind schedule. Ack! I immediately flipped on the planning switch…
I’d love to hear about your future home dreams and plans. See you in the Chat! Home we go, Amanda P.S. Loud shout-out to Joanna Goddard who was the first person to tell me I should create a Substack. If you don’t already know Joanna, she’s the founder of Cup of Jo, and now has a special life advice and dating newsletter on Substack, Big Salad.
The place where I gather my latest finds and late-night research on everything from real estate intel to shopping sources. This week, a few things I’m gathering for our new house and a new collection from Schoolhouse: 
If you, too, like to plan ahead, here is the framework I use for laying out my annual goals. Tad and I each do a Wheel of Life and share them with each other—it always helps to be held accountable by someone you love! And if you, too, are a paper goods junkie, here are some of my favorites notepads (for making lists!) and planners:
A collection of interesting pantry goods I’ve come across—as random and charming as our wood floors in Brooklyn:
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