It’s official - as of tonight our house is on the market. This house that has me stamped all over it - I picked the floorplan, I picked the tiles and colors and insisted that every kids’ room have a walk-in closet. I love this house. And I love the woods where my house is nestled - I love sitting on our big front porch, watching the butterflies flit from flower to flower and listening to a myriad of birds call out to one another. I really thought this would be our forever house. But it was not to be. Somehow, we outgrew this house. And my kids need better schools than this area can offer. I remind myself of these things often, especially today.

Our realtor came over this afternoon and went to work “staging” the house. We now have silk floral arangements on every table-top and big silk potted plants in strategic corners. There’s runners on the tables and a basket perched on the entertainment center. It looks very nice, very pulled together. And very not me. And so I begin to mourn the loss of my house, even as I still live in it. Because each day from here on it will be a little less mine. Strangers will walk through and make snap judgements about it. I will stress about keeping it perfectly clean, and because of that the kids will spend much less time playing in the house. And in less than eight weeks, we’ll pack all of our belongings up, leaving this house just an empty shell of the home it once was, and we’ll say good-bye forever.

But I am praying that a new family will come and love this house as we have. I hope they will see this house as a blessing, the way that we have. I don’t want this to be a house someone settled for, because they couldn’t find exactly what they wanted. I want this to be another family’s Dream House. I want them to fill the rooms with noise and laughter and memories of their own. I know it’s just a house, but I’ve come to think of it somewhat like the tree in Shel Siversteins The Giving Tree… it will always hold a special place in my heart.

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