Tomorrow is moving day. And while I’m bursting with excitement looking ahead at all the possibilities, I’m feeling a bit nostalgic bidding farewell to what feels like an old friend…
Eight years ago I walked through your front door. You were going to be our “starter house.” Our three to five year house. Newlyweds. I never imagined we’d have kids here but here we are, almost a decade later, our little family of four + dog.
I’ll be honest and tell you it wasn’t love at first sight. By the time we found you we’d already made five offers on other houses and lost them all. I learned not to get attached. Or be too particular. After walking in and realizing you didn’t reek of cats, spot any visible mouse droppings, and weren’t located on a four lane street or next to a gas station, turned to our realtor and said, It has built-ins and no wood paneling. Let’s make a competitive offer. We raced down the street to the coffeehouse to write it up knowing you weren’t going to be around tomorrow.
We ended up losing you anyway. But a week later the phone rang asking if our offer still stood. The one with the cinder blocks in the backyard, metal siding and asbestos floors? Hooray! We’ll take it! We were elated.
Pulling up in the U-Haul, we looked beyond your cobalt blue moldings and saw potential. A little paint (every room at least once, remember that awful eggplant? Sorry about that), some sweat, and endless trips to Home Depot. And slowly you became ours. Our lovely, tiny beautiful home.
We fell in love with your little spaces.
Over the years I’ve grown to know your every nook and cranny. Exactly where to step when checking up on the babies in the wee hours as to not creak your floors.
As the hour grows near to saying our final goodbyes I’m realizing the quirks I’ve complained about are perhaps the things I’ll miss most. Lack of a formal dining room meant crowded and lively dinners around the kitchen table. A tiny footprint allowed for a larger backyard where toddlers could frolic and play. Harvestfest! Carson and Hadley sharing a room meant bonding over late night chatter, mischief and upside down good mornings! over the top bunk.
I wonder what Carson will remember about Our Brown House, as he calls you. As time passes his memories will meld with photographs and stories. Hadley probably won’t remember you at all. But I’ll remember. I’ll tell them all about picking blueberries through your garden gate, their first wobbly steps across the hardwoods, and how they loved to have impromptu dance parties around the kitchen.
Goodbye old friend. You’ve been good to us.