Our House

Home.

This is the house we moved into when the kids were small.  This is the only house they remember.  They left for their first day of pre-K, kindergarten, and high school here.  They lost teeth in this house, believed in Santa in this house, and learned to tie shoes and ride bikes in this house.

This is the house with the hidey-spot closet under the stairs that heard the giggles of toddlers and the panting of scared dogs during tornado warnings.  It has the room upstairs that we have always called the toy room even when they never played up there.  All around you will see memories from trips and scars from daily living in this house.

This is the house where William smashed his two front teeth in and where Sophie denies knowing how it happened.  We stood on the curb in front of this house and watched as Maizy left for California and wondered how we got this old so quickly.  This is the house we all had the terrible flu in and we hunkered in the living room with a fire going for weeks; one of us recovering as another fell sick.  This is where we have nursed heartbreak and sadness, disappointment and defeat.  We learned to fall down and get back up again in this house.

This is the house that has shrieked with ten girls at a sleepover and listened to the whispering of secrets to friends.  It is where birthday parties were held and play-dates.  It is where our children brought home friends not only for themselves but for us as well.  We stretched and grew and became part of a community in this house.

This is the house where we fancied ourselves farmers and had a garden.  It is where morning glories opened and cardinals landed to chirp to us good mornings.  It is where our deck covers the back of the house and the front windows are still chipped from a hail storm long ago.  We brought home two dogs and have been here long enough to say goodbye to one.  We have watched wrinkles, grey hair, and toddlers become teenagers in this house.

This is the house in 2010 we were afraid we would lose.  We struggled to pay for it, struggled to maintain it, and somehow came through.  We spent our time inside it, we learned to make do with less and we turned towards each other and figured it out.  We held our breath and hoped the AC would make it one more summer at least five summers in a row.  We’ve ripped out the carpet and laughed about who chose the oatmeal-colored carpet.  We’ve walked on plywood floors for too long and bemoaned that oatmeal-colored carpet.  We’ve learned to fix the things that are broken; we’ve grown up a lot in this house.

This is the house that seems too big now.  It is a long drive to anywhere we need to be.  This is a house that yearns for little children and growing families.  It sighs because we are no longer that family.  It shelters us and stands with us, but it no longer supports the dynamics of our family.  It seems to be time for something smaller, better appointed, and less maintenance than this house.

This is the house that I thought we would live in forever.  This is the house I will go room to room before I leave, packing up the things and memories to take with us: the recorders I made all the kids play outside, the Christmases where William was so little and excited that he would shake, the way Sophie never ran when she was little, but galloped around and around the living room.  The kitchen where we ate so many wonderful meals, where we sat beleaguered trying to understand homework, where holidays happened despite having a dining room.   So much living happened in this house.

This is a house that we will not live in forever.  It will house a new family and their dreams of a forever home.  We will move on to a smaller home and miss some parts of this house, the deck, but not others, that toy room.  We will share memories of the house and the things that took place there and remember how the kids grew and we grew and our family grew.  We will smile about the red door, the crazy orange kitchen and lime-green laundry room.  We will groan about the garage door and scooter disaster, the kitchen sink, and the way grass never grew in spots around the yard.  We will continue to share the memories that happened in this house on Barbrook Drive and while we might no longer live here, we will forever hold it in our hearts as part of what we call home.