Moving

Okay, I would not consider myself a deeply sentimental person.  I can part with objects in a closet for the sake of de-cluttering and moving on.  I don't hang on to every birthday card I've received in the past 30-some years.  I enjoy a hardy trip to Goodwill to part with items we don't need anymore.  After cleaning out a drawer, I like to pull it open and admire it a few times, just to remind myself that I am in charge of my stuff, it's not in charge of me.  

However... as we pack up to move, I am feeling these strange pangs of sadness over my stuff and space.  This is new to me and I didn't anticipate it.  I walk through rooms and think "Awww... this is where we brought Howie home from the hospital to spend his first night in the world after being born," or "This is the floor where Johnny learned to roll over as an infant," or "This is the deck where we hosted some great parties."  

As we box things up and move to a new place with more space and bigger closets... I pause to remember some of the important places in our house of 10 years.   I pause at the sight of Howie's little hands stamped on his bedroom walls with Aquaphor, the dent in the living room wall that Jake made with his doggie cage, the random holes around our yard where the boys have been secretly digging, the "pond" that my dear husband cleaned out over and over again because I liked it, the fence where I took countless Christmas pictures, and the growth marks on the wall in the kitchen.  

We love you 8110.  

You have been good to us.  

Thank you for 10 years of great living.