In buying this house, we sold our “old” one.
I’m not one to belabor a point.
I’ve moved on. I’m in this new place. We’re good.
I can be that way with friendships too. I’m not super interested in things like reunions and while I’m friends on Facebook with people, and it’s fun to connect with a select few, I’m a big believer in the concept of Life Chapters. Some Chapters were really great, but they are over now. Time to move on to the next one. I know that makes me sound heartless, but it just is.
So when Andy insisted that we have a picnic at the old house on the last day we would own it, I rolled my eyes and groaned.
“Do we really have to do this? I mean, I loved that house. It was great. But I don’t need to create a formal ceremony or anything.”
But Andy persisted. He’s the Sentimental One, believe it or not. I might pour my heart out on this screen, and he might be the one that seems rougher around the edges when you meet him, but when it comes to Tradition and Sentimental Stuff he takes the cake. I’m more of the Practical One “It’s just a house. Move on.” He’s the “But that’s our First House. We need to say goodbye.”
So off we went to the old house. The Eve Before Close.
We took a couple of picnic blankets and stopped at an old favorite for dinner.
It was weird to be there.
Like we weren’t supposed to be there. Almost like we were trespassing.
Everything felt both taboo and familiar.
Almost like dejavu. I kept feeling like we were going to get “caught”. Except that it was still very much ours. Only not.
We got to watch her walk around the backyard.
Something we had hoped, prayed and waited for for years.
We laughed at the long, hard days of installing the very sod we were sitting on, and inspected every plant that we had planted with our own hands.
I was sad that we couldn’t bring them all with us.
It made me kinda hate the new owners. Like they were taking something away from me. Which is both ridiculous and selfish.
I freaking miss my kitchen.
Not because my new one is bad, but it’s not crisp white cabinets and glass subway tile.
Gah.
The new people better appreciate all those hours of painting and priming.
Again with the bitterness. Funny how that goes sometimes. Surprises you out of nowhere. The things you care about.
I don’t miss having to haul up and get this girl upstairs.
In the half hour we were there, she had to be retrieved at least four times.
Yeah, totally don’t miss the stairs.
Not one percent.
I had never lived in a two story house before. Ever, in my whole life.
Stairs are not my favorite.
It was both joyous and hard to watch her walk around the house.
Joyous because Walking.
But hard because it made me sad that she had never experienced the house upright. That it was only now that we were gone that she could use it the way everyone else did.
The weird thing for me is not that I want to go back. I loved that house, but let’s be honest: it’s kinda hard to compete with our new one.
What’s weird to me is that someone else will live there. That another family will call it home. And I can’t go inside.
So it’s kinda like “I don’t really want it, but I also don’t want anyone else to have it.” I’m greedy like that. Apparently.
The Bigs begged for one last race around the cul-de-sac.
I have so many photos of Henry and Lucy in this same spot. One behind the other.
It was sweet that I was able to capture one of the Littles just like that too.
And then the mama begged for one last photo in front of the fireplace.
I welled up as we did one last walk through.
Packed up the kids. Buckled car seats. Pulled away.
It’s not ours anymore. As of today. Officially.
We became a family in that house. We worked our tail feather off in that house.
We will do the same in this house.
And yes, I suppose I’m glad Andy made us go for one last hurrah.
He kinda does that to me sometimes.
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There’s something special about a house. The pain of moving from the first house my husband and I lived in as a married couple paled in comparison to leaving the house where we’d brought our son home as an infant. We made so many memories in that house; and we’ve gone on to make many in our new home too. And love our new house; but I have to confess, I drive by our old house every so often and HOPE for a for sale sign. Even though it’s too small, and needed major upgrades, I can’t help but want it back.
How cool! What a strange feeling :/ as I read it, I felt like I was feeling everything with you! Ha, that kitchen! I die. It’s gorgeous. That was special that you went back! Justin’s the softy here too..he’d totally come up with a “picnic, last hurrah” kind of deal. I love it ;)
What’s funny about leaving an old house behind is that even the things that likely annoyed you the whole time you were there – a certain stain on the carpet, the paint scrapes, etc. – all serve as a memory.
This small, black gash I’m looking at right now in my living room (we have it pretty well hidden behind a lamp) actually makes me smile because it happened the very day we moved into this house and it was a time of great joy and hope.