So as May ends, it's just a bittersweet reminder that our home will no longer be ours. I know it's not much of a house---it's a duplex, it's worn, it's old, it's crusty--but it was our first home as a family and I feel the tears coming on about it.
I gave birth in it. I danced to LMFAO's Party Rock in my underwear in it. I washed a thousand dishes in it. I enjoyed plenty of nice meals with a beer outside while I watched the kids play in their blue pool.
I never once thought bad about this home, never wanted to move out of this home. Sure the carpet sucks and the ceiling is low, but I have that sense that it belongs to me and my family and that's why I feel so attached to it.
It's almost quitting time folks. Time to pack up every single one of our belongings and try to dispose of uncompleted and broken toy sets. Time to start new.
All the pictures that I've taken in this house will hopefully give the boys the feeling I get when I see the pictures my parents took in their first home. The feeling of vaguely familiar. The feeling of comfort.
The next two weeks will be jam packed with dirty trapos and boxes.
The next month will be full of adventures as we seek a new place to live northeast of Houston.
The next year will probably be as memorable as these past two and a half years, if not more so.
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