Moving

I'm sitting here in my lazy-girl chair [most relaxing spot in the house] thinking about the fact that it is our self-proclaimed last night in the little yellow house. I really don't feel like leaving. But sometimes we gotta move on and trust that things will end up fine, maybe even better. We're just moving down the street -- not a big deal! But our house now is cozy [tight, even] and holds all the love we've shared for the past seven years. I didn't know I would feel sentimental, but now as I look around I'm remembering babies learning to crawl and food thrown from high chairs and dance parties and gingerbread houses and tears are coming to my eyes. My kids have grown up here in this house.

I moved so much as a child that I didn't become attached to houses really. They came and went. I hoped for big bedrooms and interesting cubbies in the next house and fun neighbors, but never really was able to put down deep roots. So this feeling of house loss is new to me.

We're moving down the street to a house with two stories and more square footage all around. The kitchen is bigger [more counter space, bigger pantry], the master closet is bigger, we'll have an extra room [projects can be worked on in the house instead of in the garage]. Many good things. And by buying the house next door we were able to really help out someone in a tight financial situation who we've been friends with for years now. It's a good move financially for us [if we can find good renters] and it was definitely a life-saver for the seller.

So -- it's good. The kids are excited to have stairs and more space. I'm happy they won't be running circles through the kitchen while I'm cooking [one can hope]. But my goodness, I think I'll really miss our little house where we don't have to yell too loudly to find someone and our bedrooms aren't so far away from each other.

I'll miss this little house. I don't want to say goodbye.