We took a break from the crying for one last photo.
As proof, our first mortgage was some 5-1 ARM nonsense. The place was way too big for us then, two early thirty-somethings with mostly hand-me-down furniture and a tiny, white, feral cat. The house was farther out of town than we thought we wanted. And it was a ton of work.
But the space and the fresh air and the blissful silence were too much to resist. We didn’t let the brown shag carpet or stacks of “Bowhunter Magazine” left by the previous owners in the built-ins or the army of dead rats in the crawlspace or the power outlets every eight inches in the family room deter us. IT HAD A FREAKING FAMILY ROOM! It was on a third of an acre! It had an adorable wrap-around porch! And a giant shop! And it was just one house (or as I’ve always joked, 1.5 million dollars) off Beaver Lake! It was within easy walking distance of hundreds of acres of forest and wetland trails, and even better (for us) it was a foreclosure, so it was in our budget. Everywhere outside, it was as if the giant maples, evergreens and cottonwoods that surrounded us sucked anything that wasn’t birds chirping or chipmunks chipmunking right out of the air, leaving just stillness and calm and inspiration.
And year-round tree shit all over the entire property. But it was worth it.
So we bought our first house. And then we repainted, refinished, remodeled, rearranged, redecorated, re-trimmed and renovated every square inch of it. Sometimes twice.
And now, sixteen years later, it was time to move on.
The details of our move and the new place require another blog post or 27, but the short story is, we’re moving to the horse property where I grew up and into the house my dad built with my mom, who’s now 83. It’s five acres on a river. It’s surrounded by nature. I get misty describing it to people because it’s so magical. And in the next four-ish months we’ll all move (again) into a rental while we do a big, much-needed remodel and addition. And then move back into the finished old/new house within the year. It’s a labor of love and it’s gonna be crazy. But incredible in the end.
But back to the house we’re leaving behind.
Sixteen years, three refis (see: 5-1 ARM nonsense) two babies, two cats, one dog and countless goldfish later, we’re saying goodbye. Ready, but not really ready, to move onto our next adventure.
As we organized and purged and packed and moved sixteen years of living, we’ve constantly run across little tokens of our time here. Marks on the wall from the rocking chair where I rocked both kids, their soft baby cheeks and drooly little mouths nestled into my shoulder. A toddler Pull-Up caught behind a dresser drawer. A tiny metal teacup that was part of a tea set, well-used by Cassidy and her doll named Piano. Lots of little notes, scrawled in crayon on pieces of scratch paper, from when Cassidy needed to record the injustices of her life. “Carson poked me with a ball. He is sooo meean.” (He was two.) Or notes of encouragement like, “Good job Carson on the aiming at the pote. Love, Your Admirer.” There were stray black dog hairs from our beloved lab Lucille, who we had to put to sleep two years ago. So many crumbs. So many carpet stains. So many signs of a house well-loved and a well lived-in by a family of two who turned into a family of four, and who apparently forgot to dust in high places or clean out under the refrigerator. Man, that was disgusting.
The whole process was like a midterm life review. Let’s look at what we’ve learned. Let’s look at what we have to be grateful for. (All of it.) Now let’s take all of that and move into our next chapter.
So with that in mind, here are just a few things this house has taught us:
- When a 100-foot-tall cottonwood falls on your roof, insurance will cover it. But they are not fast.
- If you leave a window open for a long period of time, forget to set your alarm, and live near a main street, you might get robbed. Insurance will cover that, too. And as upsetting as it is, it’s only stuff.
- If the robbers steal your extra car keys, insurance won’t cover having both cars re-keyed. This will forever seem like so much bullshit.
- You don’t have to use every color of wall paint.
- A new puppy may chew on the molding next to her bed if you take her crate away before she’s ready.
- When that puppy becomes an old girl, it will be time to see her to the other side before you’re ready.
- One day you’re worried your baby will hit her head on the kitchen island. The next day you’re worried she’ll hit her hip bone on it. It happens that fast.
Exhibit A. Doll carrots.
- If you have a garden area, this spot needs both sunlight and water for anything to grow. If you think this seems obvious, you never saw my full-grown doll carrots.
- If you replace an old deck and patch of grass with a giant, paver patio to “save work,” you won’t.
- If you find a lone turd on said patio that’s not from any deer, dog, bear, bobcat, racoon or cat and your 5-year-old is acting suspicious, you know exactly what happened.
- If you don’t have a chimney, Santa can get in the door on Christmas Eve using a giant gold key that you leave on the front porch. Obviously.
- No matter what’s happening in life, a Friday family movie night with homemade pizza, a big comfy couch and nothing but togetherness can make everything right with the world.
- Saturdays, when Dave and I make a nice dinner after the kids are in bed and stay up late at the table, eating, drinking wine and scheming about the future, can make everything right with us.
- Unless I have more than two glasses of wine, in which case Dave gets in trouble.
- Thinking Putty does not come out of the carpet.
- Comfort and love are way more welcoming than perfection.
As I reflect on the four of us huddled in the entryway, hugging and sobbing as we said goodbye to our empty house, the words of two very wise men stand out in my mind.
First, from Dave, (and what got us all blubbering to begin with.) “Home is wherever we’re all together.”
And next from Carson, a few days earlier. “Mama, we shouldn’t be sad about our house, because all our memories are happy.”
So thank you, yellow house, for all the happy memories. And for keeping us safe and comfortable as we learned how to create a strong family and a loving home.
I sure hope the new owners have a leaf blower.