I know I have gone on and on about this but truthfully, it is dragging on and on and has been one of the most stressful times of my life. Our lives. We close on our house next Thursday, but I have to work next week so we pretty much have to be out of here by the end of the weekend. Meaning the boys are staying at nana and pop pop’s while we finish packing and move all of our stuff to storage.
It hit me like a ton of bricks yesterday that we will not put our little boys to bed in this house ever again, after tonight. They won’t come back here. They won’t play with magnets on the fridge or kick a ball across the yard. This is it. It’s over. We’ve done all the living here we are going to do.
We carried 2 brand new babies up the sidewalk and through the front door. We painted nurseries and picked out baby names here. My dad died while I lived here and I cried myself to sleep more times than I can count. We were just 24 and 26 years old when we sat on the front step of the house and made an offer on it because we didn’t want to let it get away from us. We tore that step out and put in a big porch.
We have made so many memories here and I know we aren’t leaving the memories behind, but it feels weird. It feels bad. I can’t imagine some other
totally lame family doing the same thing in my house. Our house.
Maybe it would feel different if we had somewhere to go. We did have somewhere to go, but it fell through. It didn’t fall through, we backed out. After the inspection we found out that this house…