We are less than a week away from claiming our new-to-us home...our new-to-us life.
As I've said, over and over and over, I am extremely excited
and willing to take on this adventure.
I've worked very hard over the last two and a half months to not flip through pages.
But I think every good chapter deserves a solid pause before turning the page.
* * * *
I remember my guy's first words when we walked into our (now) home for the first time: This was a bad idea.
When I asked him, "Why?" he said, "Because I want it."
Everything about the house met our (then) expectations of what a family home should be. Vaulted ceilings! Master bathroom (with double vanity)! Cherry woodwork and cabinets throughout! Ginormous backyard (with room for a swingset one day)! Generous bedrooms, huge basement, walk-in closet...the list goes on and on. It was perfect for our growing family.
We didn't realize just how perfect it would become for us. Shortly after making the offer, we slid through that steel wall and my mobility and ability drastically changed. The house was critical to my recovery, not only physically, but emotionally. I was able to navigate the main floor with access to laundry and walk-in shower. I was able to access nearby trails and logged miles upon miles on the stroller as I gimped along and worked to rebuild my muscles. I was able to DO for myself and my newborn Bug and didn't feel reliant on anyone or anything. In many ways, this house healed me.
But as recovery faded to ability, we settled into our new home and did what we thought was necessary in a new home: we bought 'stuff'. New furniture throughout, new television sets, new basement, new pool table, new cars, new toys, new cell phones. New, new, new. We were living the American dream...we were living in debt. I remember as we evaluated our bills and budget on a monthly basis, there being a lot of "We can't..." statements over the years: We can't cancel our cable! We can't sell the pool table! We can't not buy groceries at Target! Every time we examined our financial situation, we became like our children: MINE.
* * * *
In recent years, as our family has grown and grown up, we felt something was missing. We would drive through our old neighborhood and reminisce about simpler times, simpler possessions, and deeper character.
I missed the trees. I missed the way they swayed in the summer, whispering to us at dusk and canopied us in the winter, all covered in snow. I missed the age. I missed the various creaks and scratches that come with owning an older home. I missed the coziness. I missed the knowing that we were always near one another, just within arms reach. I missed the roughness. I missed taking something all scratched and worn and breathing new life into it.
As time as passed in this home, we have slowly allowed some of the new to be replaced with the old. 'New' entertainment centers gave way to upcycled stereo cabinets. 'New' table and chairs gave way to my Nanny and Pappy's kitchen table. 'New' bedroom furniture gave way to garage sale gold in Bug's big girl room. And all of these things felt like us.
* * * *
Given all of this, you may be surprised to find out that when we sat down with our realtor to complete the paperwork to put our house on the market, I cried.
Because despite the keep up, the size, the newness of it all...it's been our home for the last six years. And we've made some pretty amazing memories here.
We brought both of our babes home to this house.
We've watched three different dogs run laps in the backyard and wear holes in the carpet.
We've logged countless miles on nearby trails.
We've snuggled by the fireplace more times than I can count.
We've watched our girls grow...
We've loved. We've laughed. We've grieved. We've celebrated. We've learned.
And while I won't miss all the 'stuff', I will miss all the stuff.
Here we go. Go well.