We closed on our house yesterday. The end of our ownership was drama llama with annoying questions from our buyers mixed with their refusal to rent back to us through the end of the month, making us homeless. We lost money on the house. We lost patience with each other. And at the end, I felt happy to get rid of that ridiculous house and move on with our lives.
On Tuesday I picked the kids up from preschool, the movers were at our house loading up our stuff after packing what little was left unpacked on Monday. I brought the kids inside for lunch without giving it much thought. Reese ran through the door and thought the wide open space and ability to make her voice echo was pretty stinking awesome. She ran wildly up and down the hallways screaming like a banshee. Ryan walked in, saw the empty rooms and headed straight for the stairs. He climbed to the top and ran into his room. To the spot that his crib used to be, then to where his rocking chair used to be and then to where his bedtime books were on the wall. And as he ran from spot to spot panic started to set in and within minutes he was hysterical.
With all of the craziness of moving, getting us packed and loaded, finding us a place to live in the interim, etc. I forgot, for a moment, that this was the house we brought our babies home to. All I saw were carpets with stains on them that needed to be shampooed again. I didn’t see that those spots were from my babies’ sippy cups, from all of the mornings and nights they dropped to the floor, rolled to their backs and drank their milk while I tickled their toes. The scuffs on their wall was from the rocker brushing against it while I read them bedtime books. The scratches on the floor were from the kids chasing Gracie.
I certainly forgot that this empty house might have a profound effect on them, even though I’ve lost sleep over how hard the transition to the new house would be. So I found myself sitting on the floor of my empty bedroom, holding my bony boy, comforting him as I reassured myself that the new house was a much better space to grow up in and that he’d forget all about this empty house soon enough.
Six years of our life took place in that house. I walked down those stairs on my wedding day. We cried of the loss of our first baby in that living room. We brought home the next three to that same space. From the celebration of Lauren’s gender to the twins’ first birthday to the monthly girl’s night ins and the annual Pumpkin Parties we hosted, our dining room was quite the party space.
I can say, with certainty, that I won’t miss this house. I will miss the wall of R’s my sister and I made for the nursery and hearing Reese point out all of her family members on our gallery wall each night as we walk up the stairs for bedtime. But I never loved this house (not like our very first house, which I loved from the moment I laid eyes on it) and we outgrew it so very long ago. I am thankful for the memories we made here, and I cannot wait to make new ones in the house that will hopefully hold my family until they leave to make lives of their own.
