A House, Our Home

With ten days left in our life as we know it, the emotion of the move has finally caught up to me. I've been in robot mode checking logistics off the list, laser focused on the end goal. But a quiet moment in the kids' room set off a chain of tears that I think will continue intermittently over the next several weeks! I knew they would catch up to me. Darn those tears!

So in honor of the emotions behind the tears, I've decided to take to the blog as a place to document all of this craziness......the building up to this huge family transition. So here goes.

Ode to The Townhouse!

They say you never really own your home, that in the end it only belongs to you until it belongs to someone else. That is true. But my house is a home. And every home I've ever lived in is with me for good, in some way. My childhood home, dorm room, sorority house, first condo and this home - 340 fourth street south!

As much as I have complained about the complexities of living in the city, this house had me from hello. I fell for it completely. We've had a love/hate relationship for nearly 7 years, but my heart lives in these walls. We've got a thing going on!

While rocking Ben last night I felt this urge to touch the walls, rest my forehead on the cool surface. If only I could lay my palm on the light green walls, I could absorb the countless number of memories made here. I wanted to drink up the silence of the room and the light pouring through the window. I wanted to be full of the familiar surroundings and smells that have become my life. I wanted to remember everything, like.....

The way the palm trees rustle outside the french doors when a warm breeze blows;

the lights of the city that peek above the tree tops;

the sound of the washer and dryer humming on sunday afternoons;

the creek of the hardwood floor planks - the one right next to the couch;

the warmth of the carpet where Izzy likes to rest;

the sound of little feet running to our bedroom every morning;

the echo of our neighbors' voices through our shared walls;

the tree outside the kid's window, home to two birds and a squirrel;

the closets i share with my children's' toys;

the warmth of our half bath, always the warmest room in the house.

I was bombarded by memories of insignificant moments. Laying in my room reading a book. Painting a table. Baking really bad brownies. Unloading the dishwasher. And then, the big stuff came at me.

The big fight. The big make up. The news that changed my life. The challenges I thought I could not face. The victories I knew I would achieve. The tears that would not stop. The laughter that soon followed. The nights I could not sleep. The naps that filled me up. The planning and figuring-it-out. The aha moments. The packing. The homecomings. The big decisions. The disappointments. The learning curves. The milestones. The email that started all of this.......

I have a spot in this house. Actually outside this house.

At 2 p.m. the sunlight on our courtyard is perfect. I like to sit there and let the sun warm my shoulders, ease away my worries. It's been my little getaway for 7 years. I remember laying there chatting with my sister-in-law one day, totally unaware that I was pregnant with Lily. We found out a few days after. 9 months later I would lay in that spot praying for the sunlight to soak up my post partum depression. I would watch the clouds roll by in a heavy fog. It was on that spot that I stretched after my first three-mile run. And where my husband would leave notes for us written in chalk. This past weekend I sat in a wedge of sunlight on that same spot watching my two naked children play in the hose. It will be right there that I sit and offer up a quiet prayer the morning we leave for North Carolina. It is my spot.

Thank you 340 Fourth Street for holding in all these memories. Oh, if your walls could talk! You welcomed us as newlyweds and as new parents. You sheltered my babies and provided them room to cry and crawl and cackle. You gave us a place to gather for dinner and quiet rooms to rest our heads.

I am taking you in and letting you go. I have a new home to meet. New memories to make. And you have new dwellers moving in soon. Take good care of them, I know you will. And, I will be back.....we still own you, you know!