in escrow! pre-approved!

I have been uncharacteristically silent in this blog about our plans to move. As things progress, it seems likely that we really will have to say good bye to this shoebox that we call home. I spent the first week after we made the offer on the other house feeling weepy and unsure. I called Nate a dozen times at work asking him if he was certain that this was right, maybe we should just stay here, closet space is over-rated, after all. While I have not been writing about the move, Nate and I have been talking about it. We talk about flooring and paint and cabinetry. We talk about how much I am going to miss this little place. I have never been good at change. This is the house we became a family in, where we labored for Claire, where we impulsively decided to remodel, taking hammers to walls one night.

Three years ago, this house seemed big. When we moved my belongings from my tiny studio and Nate's few things from his rental house, this place felt empty. It actually echoed. That was before jumperoos and exersaucers and baby bath tubs and strollers. Now, the house seems tired. It is weighed down by the bulk of our family. It needs lighter folks. Or at least folks with less gear. In a few weeks, we will begin the transition to another place. A place that doesn't hold my memories. A place with plenty of room for a fleet of plastic toddler stuff.

As much as I want to hold onto the pant leg of this old house, like a child to her mother, I am gearing up to say goodbye. My husband, who doesn't understand my attachment to this place patiently reminds me that we are home to each other. A house is a place. We are home to each other.
The girl also is not fond of change. She is, however, fond of our friend Courtney, who loves pictures of unhappy babies.