Years ago, we considered putting our house on the market, so we invited a realtor to give us an appraisal. That morning, our 10-year-old son spent hours in his bedroom. We walked the exterior with the agent, then entered the front door to find that Kevin had enlisted his younger sister, Katie, in his project. We were met with crayoned signs on nearly every door, appliance, and piece of furniture: “We Like Our Neighborhood, All Our Friends Are Here!’’ “Go Away Mr. Real Estate Agent!’’ “Find Another House to Sell!’’ And, “WE ARE NOT MOVING!’’

We’d purchased the house in Mansfield 11 years earlier, in a town requiring longer commutes but in our price range. It was new construction, and the street was full of young families. Large lawns, bicycles and Band-Aids, kickball and tree climbing, block parties and birthday bashes (for both kids and adults). On a kitchen wall, we documented our children’s growth spurts. My mother sent a garage sale plaque, and we displayed it prominently: “A House is Made of Brick and Stone, but a Home is Made of Love Alone.’’

In the end, we didn’t sell. Nor did we a few years later, because we’d found great karate and music teachers for Kevin. Not when Katie entered middle school, because she was attached to her soccer team and gymnastics center, and not when we explored education alternatives but realized the public school was a really great fit. And besides, it just made financial sense to stay. We resisted the McMansion wave because although (maybe) affordable, it was pushing our limits and would have meant more work and less family time.

So, we stayed. We refinanced. We took out home equity loans and made improvements everywhere (although the exterior paint color remained because, well, the kids couldn’t bear to change it). We got a dog, and then another one. We refinanced again. We planted trees. We spent the money saved by not buying a McMansion on amazing family vacations. We refinanced again, and because of this and the savings we’d put away, the kids had many college options. We refinanced yet again just because the interest rates were just so low.

The kids pitched in. Katie learned carpentry while working with her dad on her dollhouse. She later built furniture for her American Girl dolls. She was an interior painter extraordinaire, redoing her bedroom three times and painting (trim and all) our family room and kitchen (but preserving the measurement wall). Kevin transformed the basement into a pseudo-music studio, and he worked the lawn sprinklers (just ask our neighbors). Katie used our house number for her soccer jersey through college.

The phone rang yesterday. Kevin, a musician in Nashville, called to say he’d bought a house. He is 25 and single and, “Well, Mom, this just makes more financial sense than renting.’’

“Great! I will put furniture, your old video games, Legos, and books — you know, all the stuff you wouldn’t let me throw away — in a shipping container and send them all down to you when you close,’’ I told him. Time for us to think about downsizing, getting that retirement house. He hesitated then wondered whether we could just keep his stuff for a while longer.

Oh, well. The dogs really like the yard, and they have friends in the neighborhood . . .

Jennifer Dempsey, a retired corporate attorney, coaches diving at Wheaton College and makes frequent dog therapy visits in the Boston area with her golden retrievers. Send comments and a 550-word essay on your first home to address@globe.com. Please note: We do not respond to submissions we won’t pursue.