This morning I went back to our old house to deposit some air fresheners. Apparently, people think we kept a dog there and didn’t wash it very often. Uh. Okay. They should talk to my brother-in-law, who likes the way our house smells so much that he jumped my sister when she was wearing my old clothes.
ANYWAY. There was a for sale sign in the yard, and I got really upset.
I realize I’ve spent the last few weeks going OMG SO HAPPY AND AMAZING I’M HOME THIS IS AWESOME DID YOU SEE MY KEURIG STATION??? and I still totally feel that way, but seeing the sign in the yard made me cry.
I never felt like it was my home. I’m not being dramatic, and I’m not trying to make anyone feel badly. It was beautiful, it was great for our family, and I was perfectly happy there. But I never really felt at home.
I think in my haste to appreciate a.) the awesomeness of my new home and b.) the fact that I don’t have to literally live in a remembrance of how much the people I love most in the world have suffered, I forgot that it was my home for almost two years.
Because of Squeaks, most of our courtship took place there. I met her there. She handed me Big Baby. Buzz told me he loved me there. We decided to get married there. We came home from our honeymoon there. It was where I first had a bedroom with my husband (I’m not being creepy, for those of us who didn’t live together before marriage having an actual bedroom together where you can like SLEEP- LITERALLY SLEEP THROUGH THE NIGHT- with someone you love is, like, amazeballs). I found out I was pregnant with Buddy there. I told my parents about him there. (Well, okay, I told my mom about him at church because she figured it out. But still.) We brought him home from the hospital there. It was our home.
But hopefully for someone it will be their dream house. And it will be filled with only happy memories.
(Not our actual house pictured. I don’t want any creepers.)