The sign was staked into our front lawn today.
We’ve been in our home for five years and it’s been a good home for us. There’s room for parties. Space for Snuggling-and-Movies-and-Popcorn nights. And friends. Oh, how we have been surrounded by people we adore. There’s Susie (who I hope to properly introduce to you sometimes soon) my pretty, crazy clever, hypochondriac sista-neighbor. And Jess, my Southern sweetheart who lives down the street and who makes me laugh so hard in regular old conversations that I don’t know what I’ll do without her. She thanks the “baby Jesus” for everything, and I have never been so in love with a single gal pal in my ever lovin’ life. And there’s the cul-de-sac where the kids ride bikes and create chalk-painted neighborhoods.
Still, when you resign from everything you’ve ever known to be solid in life, including your husband’s job, things are bound to change. So the weekend was splattered with paint and staging furniture and chatting with the super adorable realtor (it’s so nice when adorable people sell your home. I think it’s going to up our chances, you know.) and begging the kids to not touch or breathe on anything, including their own selves.
And now, tonight the house is clean. Quiet. Oddly uninhabited feeling.
I wonder if I should feel more sad. I don’t.
I feel trusting. I feel enveloped in the arms of love and wonder and thrilling adventure ahead.
Of course, that could just be the Windex fumes talking. I’ve done a dang lot of cleaning this week.