Our "old" house, one city over in Oakland, was where our family was born. We were a young couple there ... then parents of one baby ... then parents of a toddler and a baby ... then parents of a toddler and a pre-schooler, when we moved to this house. This house, our current house, is where our babies grew into children, young people who have memories of this house, and virtually no memory of the Oakland house.
I remember walking the kids to school, up the hill in the Sit-n-Stand Stroller -- my daughter, sucking her thumb in the front seat, my son, the train-obsessed Big Boy, standing on the back platform. As we got to the steepest part of the block, I would chant, "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can ..." as we powered up the hill. When they got to be a little bit bigger, my son would get off the back and push the stroller with me, saying, "Super power boost, Mom!!!"
This weekend, that same son -- now taller and stronger than me -- was carrying furniture with my husband, taking over that spot at the other end of the furniture that would normally have been mine. My daughter had made a Mothers' Day breakfast for me, all on her own, complete with custom Mothers' Day artwork on the wall of the breakfast nook. They really are all grown up. And it's all happened here, in this house.
We'll look back on this house with some very good memories, and I am tearing up right now, thinking about it. It's been more than a house, it's been our home. But it's time to move on -- literally -- and build more memories in the next house. And this house will be somebody else's new house. I hope they fill it with many years of good memories, too.
