We move in two days, and the emotions are hitting me hard now. All I see is how beautiful my shit hole of a house has become, that its walls housed the 9 most challenging years of my life (rebuilding it, birthing and raising 2 little kids, surviving the death of my father-in-law) and that someone else gets to enjoy this place that has come to mean so much to me.
Our house was originally built in 1913 by Joseph and Elizabeth Menger. And it was rebuilt by this Joseph and Elizabeth, and who are selling it almost exactly 100 years after it was built. I feel like we saved this house, and because of that I feel we’re just as important to its story as it is to ours.
The new people, Frank and Stefanie, will never know what went into making this house what it is today. But they don’t need to. That’s the beauty of a new home – it’s a clean slate for every family that enters it. And while I feel very bitter towards them right now since we ended up taking a $6,000 hit to replace the boiler for them, I hope this home acts as their shelter to a lot of happy memories.
There is much I will miss about this place – its proximity to family, with my parents and mother-in-law being within 5 minutes and my sister about 20. It made babysitting so very easy.
I will miss our incredible neighbors, Katie and Wayne, and their adorable daughter, Lydia, who has become one of Addy’s best friends. Katie, who is a stay-at-home-mom, too, is the reason I stayed sane as I adjusted to the isolation of being a full-time mom. We joke that we’re sister wives, only because we developed a pattern of watching each others kids as needed and helping the other with various tasks around the house. Frank and Stefanie don’t even know yet how lucky they are to inheret them.
I will miss the easy access to the countryside, where the sidewalks abruptly ends and rolling hills take over as the landscape becomes dominated by farms.
While I often curse its loudness, I will miss the train wooshing by our house and watching my kids (and Lydia, of course) go running for the door with excitement just to witness it clacking passed. And for my son’s sake, I will miss the lumber yard down the street, because Crosby could sit and endlessly watch the forklifts and trucks.
I will miss playing chase in the upstairs hallway with my children, a pre-bedtime ritual that burned their last bits of energy. I will miss how easily a zillon happy memories are recalled as I move from room to room. I will miss this home that we did such a good job rebuilding and filling with love.
And as I cry and feel sad about leaving, I know all the memories will move with me and that no matter where I go, my family is what makes a place my home. And there will be another beautiful house in our future, one that I’m certain I will love just as much and will become the backdrop to the sorrows, challenges and joys of our lives.
The next couple of days will be hard and packed with goodbyes. But it helps me to feel better knowing I did right by this house, taking care of it and fixing it up for more families, like stupid Frank and Stefanie, to call home. And I feel happier every time I see cracks appearing in the plaster walls, hear the insanely creaky floor boards that wake our children up at night, feel the oppressive heat of no air conditioning in the summer and get woken up by a loud ass train at 6:00 am every day, because they are now Frank and Stefanie’s problems. And I cannot wait for Katie to tell them that a man dropped dead in the upstairs bathroom and currently haunts the house. Sure only the first part is true, but I really want to mess with them for getting such good deal on a house I worked so hard for.
So here’s to the first Joseph and Elizabeth, who built this place, the modern day Joe and Liz who improved upon their efforts and Frank and Stefanie, who better not fuck it all up.
- We New Yorked it properly
- Crosby goes to the ER: A Story of Blood and Popsicle Beatings