As you've probably gathered from some of the posts, we're in the process of moving. The organizing, giving things away/donating, and packing part of the process. We have a matter of weeks to pack up over six years of memories (that's what I'm kindly calling our crap we've accumulated). Ever since we found the house and everything aligned (quite wonderfully I might add) I've been gung-ho about packing.
Now the gravity of everything happening is hitting me. We're actually moving and leaving this house behind. I'm excited, really excited. I am. I wouldn't be moving if I didn't want to. Yet everything is just a lot to take in. The house that saw my babies grow, caught their falls from their first steps, allowed me to start not one but two businesses. The house that has heard MANY screams and so much laughter and so much happiness. The house that has kept us warm, cool, safe, and cozy. It will no longer be our's.
Whenever I get a new idea to try with the kids, I instantly picture where this activity/project/complete mess will take place. A lot of times it's our beloved backyard or our easily cleaned kitchen. The walls are stained with Kool Aid from that one activity that I actually can't think of but I do remember it was Kool Aid that did it. There's a piece of edible slime stuck to the ceiling that will not peel off (and not from a lack of trying). There's the mud pile in the backyard that happened after the kids decided to create a flower garden with fake flowers.
Each little thing that may seem like nothing to anyone who looks at the house is something to me. That piece of slime is a memory of little feet who created an indoor "skating rink" out of the slime. When I look at each room of this house, distinct memories and feelings come over me. The corner of my living room that held little potties for years and saw dozens of children potty trained. The front door area that holds more kids than I would have imagined, looking out the door each Friday morning to catch a glimpse of the garbage trucks that flood the neighborhood. The closet doors in the boy's room that have fallen off more times than I can count because of kids playing hide n' seek.
After the month is over, I'll no longer be able to walk through this house and think of those funny little times. I know, I know. We'll make many more memories and the new house. I'm looking forward to it. Yet there's no getting over the feeling that I'm leaving memories behind.
I fully understand and fully believe the staying "a house doesn't make a home" but I also fully believe it's an important piece in our memories. Our house has been there with us, let us grow and change, and grow up. To leave it behind will not be the easiest thing in the world.
Some of those priceless memories in the house:
I'm lucky to have the blog, because if I'm not able to walk around the house to remember these moments, at least it's only a click away.