We sold our house.
About two weeks ago, a guy made an offer, we countered, and he accepted. Easy as pie. It took a little longer than we were expecting, but overall it was a pretty stress-free, low-key process.
So, selling our house was exactly what we wanted. We want Adele to have a backyard where she can safely run around, sing at the top of her lungs, or lounge in her wading pool without the watchful eyes of a dozen of our closest neighbors. We want another bedroom so Adele doesn’t lose her bed everytime we have guests. These are all good things, no doubt.
I bought the condo all by myself. I worked with a realtor, read “Mortgages for Dummies,” and made the best decision I could. I painted nearly all the rooms myself and learned a thing or two about home maintenance along the way. I hosted senior high girls for their weekly small group meetings there. I met and fell in love with Jeff there. I touched up my makeup and slipped into my wedding dress there, and I crasheed there with my brand new husband after our beautiful, unforgettable wedding day. We planned vacations at the dining room table there. We rode hundreds of miles on our bikes from the garage to whatever destination we determined for the day. We played countless games of Skipbo, Yahtzee, and Scrabble, and I happily scrapbooked in the loft. We hosted our families, a missionary from Cambodia, and a friend or two, or three. And, last August, we brought the sweetest baby girl home to there.
It’s hard to imagine my life without Cobblestone Drive.
I just have mixed emotions about leaving behind all the great memories created in that house. And, I feel just a tiny twinge of saddness when I think about all the growing up Adele will do in the next house we own. Will the next house be the backdrop for her prom pictures? Will she meet her best friend just down the street and prefer hanging out there than at home?
Don’t get me wrong: I’m definitely excited about a new place and a new start. But, I have mixed feelings. That’s ok, right?