My boys have just left the only home they have ever known. It’s not where we brought them home swaddled from the hospital, but close. The walls that house their secrets and memories no longer surround us. We’ve told the boys that memories live in our hearts, not in our house. They aren’t buying it…yet.
Mac Daddy and I established ages ago that we are not “plant your roots” sort of people. It’s odd, really, considering his mom still lives in the house he grew up in. All I ever wanted growing up were roots, a family story. Now that I have the chance to plant some roots I don’t. I can’t explain it. We have wanderlust, I suppose. Our goal and dream is to live abroad and have our family experience a new way of life. We dream of Italy… We don’t want to uproot our family for the sake of moving, and the opportunities that presented themselves to us on the homefront didn’t suit our sensibilities. The next best thing to satiate our wanderlust was to move in our very own little town.
You see, in a delightful yet unexpected surprise, we sold our house rather quickly, leaving us with no housing options. Deal asked us frequently, “Tell me again why we sold our house and where we will go…” The boys were worried we’d be homeless for a while, and we spent days explaining that would not be the case. They weren’t worried and anxious as much as they feared their parents had lost their minds. Kids are resilient and flexible, much more than we give them credit for.
And so here we are in a small rental house that is retro cool in a Mad Men sort of way. There are boxes teetering in a corner of the kitchen, the leather couches are cramped in, the dog bed is nestled in its familiar spot by the dresser. And goodness, the stuff piled in storage! Furniture, keepsakes, clothes, toys, and various wads of junk that will likely leave us wondering why we packed it in the first place. We have settled into this little house and resumed life as a family that isn’t in flux. We’ve been wanting to live closer to downtown so we can walk more, drive less. In just a few days here our feet have taken us wandering and we love it. Though the boys won’t admit it, they are rather enjoying sharing a room. They retreat to their beds with a book in hand and put the iPod on shuffle to listen to the latest poppy tunes while they chit chat. It’s heartwarming, really. We’re adapting to this new adventure in ways great and small.
Mac Daddy and I are embarking on a historic renovation so our days are filled with architectural plans and historic tax credit applications. I drool over Houzz and Pinterest and am reminded what a joy renovations would be if we didn’t have a budget. Alas, we are mapping out our new house together, creating walls and memories in a strange twisted tango of past, present, and future. This will be our third historic renovation in 11 years. We’re more crazy than ambitious, leading the kids to wonder if a pinch of insanity tints the wanderlust that so obviously pulses in our psyches.
For now, we’ve been enjoying home cooked meals in our rental house. We’ve frolicked in the spectacular yard and enjoyed flipping through old comic books the home owner left behind in the breezeway. We sit together at meal time, holding hands while we say our thank yous. On our first night both boys said they were thankful for finding this house, this hideaway, this home. I think they are starting to understand that memories live in our hearts…and in our taste buds.