We’re putting our house on the market and getting ready to move. I can almost hear your thoughts: You’re totally envious because packing up a house you’ve called home for six years, while wrangling three kids, sounds like an absolute blast.
Let me tell you—it’s a mixed bag of emotions. “The aim is to make it feel like the potential buyers’ home, not yours,” a realtor pragmatically informs me.
I start by having the carpets cleaned and scrubbing every inch of the walls. Those nail polish smudges, sticky handprints, and random crayon doodles? Fortunately, they all come off with a little elbow grease.
I organize the closets, donate furniture, toss out expired snacks like applesauce and breakfast bars, and gather countless stray coins (thanks, husband), Lego bits (the kids), and travel-sized lotions (yours truly). I stow away baby clothes and sleep sacks that are no longer needed, until… I stumble upon memories.
I discover an old photo my husband took of me right before he proposed. My gaze is fixed on a VHS case (remember those?) in a video rental store, deep in thought about what to watch that night. I look so carefree, flat-stomached, and content. I end up leaving it out on my dresser.
I tuck away picture frames filled with images of my boys—some showcasing those adorable, chubby-cheeked baby faces I can hardly recall, while others capture their playful toddler grins. I hide their beloved bedtime stories in drawers and pack the “daily sheets” chronicling their daycare years—I’ve saved every single one. I reluctantly place the water table out by the curb on trash day, reminiscing about the joy it brought the boys before this winter’s chill cracked it right down the middle.
I dive into my closet and get rid of my skinny jeans. It feels liberating! I finally toss my old law school outlines but hold on to that optimistic college paper on The Social Contract, tucked safely under the bed.
I part ways with the rocking chair my mother used when I was a baby. One arm is broken, so it’s time to let it go. I scrub, tidy, and clean, trying to create the illusion that we never lived here. But the truth is, we did.
This is the carpet where my sons did “tummy time,” learned to crawl, and took their first steps. These hallways are where we walked to soothe our newborns to sleep. That roof deck? We often retreated there when my spirited firstborn only settled in the cool summer air. And the front stoop? I spent many beautiful yet lonely days of maternity leave sitting there.
See that scratch on the kids’ bedroom door? That’s from when my son was having a meltdown and kicked it so hard it collided with the bookcase. And the marks on the kitchen cabinets? They’re from when my boys zoomed their bikes across the living room, trying to burn off energy during those long, winter days when we couldn’t go outside.
This staircase? That’s where I labored for the first time. From that top step, we counted and timed the sweet, early contractions that led us to parenthood. The front door? We walked through it with each of our newborns, bringing them home from the hospital just four blocks away. That rocking chair in the corner? I nursed all three of my sons there while “Baby Mine” played softly in the background.
Now, it’s time to move forward. I know it will be good for us. A new state, new schools, fresh jobs, new friends—a whole new chapter. Sometimes a fresh start is just what you need.
But I’ll miss these playgrounds, these familiar streets, and how my kids can navigate their way from home to school with their eyes closed. I’ll miss how we can hardly make it to the corner without bumping into a friend or neighbor, who have become like family.
As I’ve cleaned and sorted, I’ve realized it’s not about these four walls. It’s not the house that makes it a home. What we’ve built here—our family, our memories—they’ll come with us. It’s not the possessions or even the locations. It’s the experiences that shape who you are, and you carry that with you wherever you go.
We’ll do our best to make this house feel like someone else’s home. But for now? It’s ours. And in some way, it always will be.
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Summary:
Moving from a home filled with cherished memories can be bittersweet. While the process of packing up can be overwhelming, it serves as a reminder that a house is not just a structure; it’s the moments shared and the love cultivated that truly make it a home. As we embark on this new journey, we carry our memories with us, understanding that the essence of our family will always remain intact.