Monday, November 4, 2013

Our House is a Very Very Fine House...

Well, folks, we did it. We sold our townhome. I've  been approaching this day with mixed feelings. We haven't lived there for over a year, so it isn't as though we are scrambling to move and don't know where we are going. We are comfortably established in The Hills, and life is nice. The mixed feelings come with saying goodbye to a place that meant a lot to the Beardocrat and I as a family. I suppose I will have to tell you the whole story so you understand what I mean.

2009- The Beardocrat and I got engaged in February and kept moving up the wedding date. Eventually we settled on 24 April 2009. This left us about two months to find a house, buy a house, move into that house all while working full time and planning a wedding. We used my friend Casey's realtor, because my trajectory in life seemed to follow Casey's closely at that moment in time. I should blog about that another time, but I probably won't. We knew that we would only stay in this first home about 3-5 years, so we wanted something without much yard, not too big, vaulted ceilings. I have a thing about high ceilings. I have to have em. When our realtor showed us this new construction townhome, I didn't even want to go look at it. It sat smack in between two railroads and was close to several schools. After hemming and hawing we went to see it, and the place just felt right. It felt like home. We loved the open floor plan, all the LINEN CLOSETS (our current place has zero linen closets. I know, right? What kind of a place doesn't have closets for linens!?). So we did the new home buyer stuff, put in an offer, signed paperwork at 1:00 AM one evening after an Andrew Bird concert and before we left for Colorado at 2:30 AM. It was a whirlwind adventure, lets put it that way. And on the 18th of April we moved in most of our stuff.

Moving day. I am the girl. My brother is there and our Home Teachers. Good guys.

The townhome was where Alan and I stayed before we left on our honeymoon. It was where we planted (and promptly killed) an herb garden. It was where we ate dinners on the floor before we bought furniture. It was where we discovered we would be parents for the first time... and the second time, surprise! It was where I read books. Where the Beardocrat played Starcraft II. It was where we entertained our friends and family. It was where I threw up incessantly for nine months waiting for Squirmy to arrive, and the place we, as two bumbling first time parents, learned the ins and outs of baby gates, child proofing, and that we would never own anything nice again. It was where we played board games and drank Martinelli's on the date of the first snowfall of the year. It was the birthplace of our family tradition. The townhome was where I had a life changing career switch and spent many, many, MANY nights awake with Squirmy while he explored the world. It is the location where I embraced wearing stretchy clothing. In short, the townhome meant a lot.

When we knew that we were moving, and we started looking for our second home, I was worried that I would never feel the same way about a place again. I worried that I would not get that Crosby Stills Nash and Young feeling of closeness and comfort in another location. After all, the townhome was OURS, no one else had ever lived there. I am happy to report that the moment I walked into our home in The Hills, I did feel that it belonged to us, and we've made beautiful memories here as well, but it will never be the FIRST home that the Beardocrat and I made our own, together. So it is with a fond farewell that we signed the closing paperwork this morning. The townhome is no longer ours, but the memories are, and I can't wait to drive there one day with my grand kids and show them our first place. 

2 comments:

stewedslacker said...

Ah, that was a fun house. I don't know how I managed to look like the oldest and fattest person moving in that picture when everyone else was my senior by 8 or so years. There were some good times at that house, I seem to recall the Rage living in your front room when she broke her ankles. Also, my amazing botched prank that Alan witnessed.

smithfieldman said...

Ah, I almost shed a tear or two after reading this and I only visited the townhouse a few times.