It had all new shiny-everything, a finished basement, a beautiful sun porch, a very big backyard. The garden had been kept so meticulously, we knew that the day we moved in would be the last time it ever looked so good. When we moved in there were two of us with not much stuff. It was a teeny-tiny bit above our price range but our dream starter home indeed.
But now almost 10 years later it has all old everything, a cluttered basement, an aging sun porch and a garden that is all but dead. Now there are four of us. The little ones bringing in more and more stuff each year. We could never sell it for what we bought it for. It has become my dream finishing home. I dream of being finished here. Finuto. Done. Sionara.
In the 10 years we’ve been in our home a lot of stuff has come in, but not much stuff has left. I hate to say it, but a lot of times I feel a level of hatred at it, as if the house has personally reached out to betray me instead of our own passive stuff-hoarding junking up the place.
It’s sad to articulate this, y’all. I have loved our home so completely for so many years. Once, Dave & I hosted a beautiful baby shower on our sun porch. We used to have 35-65 college students watching movies in the basement, playing Taboo in the living room, playing Spades at the Dining Room table & eating pizza on the sun porch all while baby Ransom slept in his bedroom. The house has served us incredibly well. But now yeah, I sort of hate it.
When you have appreciate something for so long it feels wrong to want something different even though you just may need it. I keep waiting for our house to rebel as Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium did when he threatened to die.
As I assess my readiness to leave I feel it is primarily around having outgrown it. My boys share one small bedroom. I don’t have enough room to store all their clothes in this one small room so the clothes are often strewn about. I was majorly discouraged to find an incredible set of bunk beds on Craigslist only to find they wouldn’t actually fit in the boys small space. MAJOR downer. Ran’s mattress still lives on the floor and Rhysie’s crib —too big to fit in their joint space with a twin bed— is still in a messy basement bedroom. Sigh.
The hubs & I have a small bedroom which regularly leaves me looking like Dave beats me. The room is so small that when I get up in the middle of the night if Dave has left a drawer open it blocks my path out of the room. I cannot even tell you how many times I’ve hit a knee, arm, elbow or side complete with big purple bruises because of the size of our room.
Biggest of all, the four of us share a teeny-tiny bathroom with one sink which is maddening. And yes, of course, like every other room it’s always a mess. The strife our messy house has caused our marriage is EPIC. Seriously, knockdown drag-out epic.
When Dave & I first married we moved into a cute 1-bedroom apartment. After a year of attempting an office in the living room, I suggested strongly that we move into a 2-bedroom apartment just across the hall. My plan worked beautifully. We had a lot more space and a great deal more peace for having spread out.
You know when you need something different. Trust your instincts.
I want to move into a different house. My instincts are telling me we need to move into a different house. One where I don’t get beat up in my own bedroom, one where my kids each have their own room, and a separate bathroom from us. One with much bigger closet space in each room. One where the yard isn’t so big and so complex to maintain that it takes away from our time together as a family. One where I’m not feeling constantly stressed inside of.
Yes, I know the hubs & I are probably always going to be messy. And yes, I know a different home isn’t going to solve all of our junk-keeping ways. No need to lecture here.
I made the decision this year to move on from a job I loved that no longer fit and I left a person whom I loved very much, but no longer fit in my life in a healthy way. Those sacrificial losses taught me something. As I mentioned yesterday, our lives are much too short to be afraid of change, to keep around unhealthy people, jobs, weight or homes. We can’t afford to not trust our instincts.
Our house was a great starter home, but I personally feel that I need to let it go, that we need to be willing to let it go, because I am suffocating. So. As much as I’d love to throw it on the market yesterday I need to first get my husband to agree that we should move. And before you think this post is my passive aggressive attempt at getting him to see my point of view please know that my husband does not read my blog. Ever. (Loser). <——– See? Doesn’t read it.
It’s just a house, and I have no problem letting go. On the other hand, it’s just a house, and I have to learn to maintain it the best I can while I’m here. I’m smart enough to know at least that much is true. I am miserable in it yet I have a strong sense that it will be important for me to not give up, though I’m certainly tempted to.
I read a beautiful -amazing really- post on SheLovesMagazine.com about women rising up to face whatever their “night” is. And this doesn’t usually happen to me, but as I thought about our house and attempted to comment on the post I just bust out crying. I am more overwhelmed at trying to figure out how to get rid of junk, how to organize rooms, how to maintain spaces with little kids around and with a husband who takes 5 million years to make decisions, than I’ll ever know. I am so overwhelmed. Wait, did I say that all ready? Yeah, it’s bad y’all. It’s really just inexplicably bad.
Is there anything in your life that you have appreciated for so long but you now feel like you need something new? Something different? Anything you feel like you need to trust your instincts on? Is anyone else afraid of change? Moving? Anyone moved and been SO glad you did?