Ivy Gardens

Ivy Gardens (or Ivy Ghetto, as I affectionately refer to it) has been our home for the past two years while Todd has been in school.

I once referred to this place as "aesthetically tragic," but I'd like to amend that statement to just plain "tragic." Our bathroom is unsightly--if you can even call it that, considering the sink is actually in the hallway. It's hard to shut the door once you're in the room unless you stand in the shower. I basically demanded they replace the floor within the first week we moved in because it reeked to high heaven of mold.

I clean, but you can't tell. When I cook, I sometimes have to put pots on the floor because there is no counter space. Our upstairs neighbor runs stomping marathons around his apartment, but that's not nearly as annoying as what he does with his girlfriend at 2 a.m. (always 2 a.m.!) And let's not talk about the bugs and the rodent.

 But it hasn't been that bad. And it has been "home" for the majority of our married years.



This apartment represents a good decision we made: to tough it out in grad school so we could take on less debt. Great decision, actually.

We have "pets" in our "backyard," our favorite of which are the Cardinal couple, the Blue Jay and Chubs. We keep the curtains back and sit on the sofa watching them. It's so close to Todd's school, my work, and has beautiful places to walk.



I may never miss the apartment itself, but it will always remind me of how much we loved grad school.