I better write this while I still have my mind. Part of it anyway.
It’s 8:45 p.m. and I foresee a late night of packing ahead. It’s our last night in our house. From the moment I woke up this morning, I’ve been weepy about it. I’m not sure why, but I didn’t expect it. Things have been so insanely busy here I haven’t had time to let the reality sink in. Today, it caught up with me.
After putting my boys to bed for the last time in this house, I sat in the bathroom and had a good cry. A nose running sob, more like it. I finally pulled myself together and started picking up the bath toys. I couldn’t sit on the toilet and cry all night, I had a zillion things to do.
For all its quirks I am going to miss this house. It is our first home and we have literally put our blood, sweat and tears into this place (not to mention money). Because of the condition it was in when we bought it, we did some major upgrades and renovations and got to choose everything from cabinets, to light fixtures, and paint. It is an expression of who we are, what we like, what we do.
But what really gets me is what we have been through in this house. Both our sons were brought home from the hospital to this very house. Tears are coming as I write this.
When we first moved in, my mom couldn’t help but remind me that our house was just like the one that they lived in when I was a baby. She would explain the lay out of the floor plan over and over, saying, “It was just like this, only…” and “We had a porch swing just like this” and so on. I listened and wondered at what the house must have looked like as we moved from the house when I was 2.
And now I’m my mother, moving out with two little boys. My oldest will be two on Sunday. They wont remember this house. And when they have babies they’ll probably listen to me tell them about this house, the house we lived in when they were babies.
I guess I’m mostly sad that this era of our lives is over. Tomorrow the door is closing and there’s no reopening it. There’s no going back. It is done. Gone. It’s history.
A few months after we moved in, my husband was in the front yard doing some yard work. A woman in a white SUV drove by and slowed to a stop. “I used to live here when I was one!” she shouted from the window.
My husband nodded and smiled and said something like, “no way.” Then she was gone.
I get it. Years from now, I’ll probably drive by this place and say to my children, “that’s where we lived when you were two and one!”
I know I’m a sap, but if I can’t move out of a house when they’re babies, what am I going to do at their college graduations? Or even worse, their weddings? Fall to pieces I guess. At least I won’t have to dry my eyes to pick up bath toys and pack my kitchen.
(Sigh) I will make it through. Well,I guess I better keep packing. Tomorrow we move to my parents for a few days, and Monday it’s off to Kentucky! Yup, that’s where we’re headed. I’ll keep you posted! (No pun intended :))