Leaving a House that Built Me

I'm sitting on the wood floor in my room. It hasn't been echoe-y like this since my senior year of high school when we painted it. Auntie Cindy helped me pick out just the right shade of rusty red to make the Golden Gate Bridge stand out in the painting Grandpa loved, the one that will soon be hanging up in my own apartment.

This room has come a long way since I first set foot in it years ago. It was once carpeted and full of Grandma and Grandpa's stamping things, their computer, their two separate desks that were so neatly organized. It was fun to hide under Grandpa's desk. The more cousins crammed under there, the better. They had perfected a system for working on their stamps together, and I loved to peek in on them while they worked. They were such wonderful, fascinating people. And this room housed one of their passions. I loved to think about that as I lived in this room.

And now, here I sit. I've come a long way since I first set foot in this room, too. I was about 6 then. My biggest dreams then were probably to beat my brother and Beckey's team in the Cousin Bowl in the front yard. Now I'm 23 and currently my biggest dream is to survive this move, class, and 24 kindergarten kiddos this year.

This room's been good to me. In a few short hours my foot will tread across the floor one last time. After they leave this room, they'll make their way down the hallway, feeling the carpet that my feet have helped to wear down over the years. My eyes will take in this wonderful home one last time, the place that has known so much of my family's love and laughter, and I'll be on my way. Maybe someday I'll come to love a place this much again, but Grandma and Grandpa's house will always be one of the first places I think of when I think of home.

My heart breaks as I think that the next time I see this place, it will only be from the road as I drive by. There won't be any maneuvering in the angled driveway, pushing the sticky door, hearing the rattling of the metal decoration on the back of the door, and feeling the rush of familiarity. No, it'll be just an empty, lonely house. But I will smile through the tears as I see the dear old place again, and then I'll drive on over to see the beautiful faces of my family once again.

Until then, I hear a new place calling out to me. It whispers the promise of housing new memories and experiences, of watching me continue to grow. Apartment living, here I come.

My friends, I leave you with one of my favorite songs to listen to when I'm away from home in honor one of the houses that did build me.

Pausing to Enjoy It

Packing always makes me panic, moving is stressful, and I'll be glad when this is over. I am not the first person to realize that, and I am far from the last.

We are loading up tomorrow and heading out very early Saturday morning for The Good Life.

My mom and I were talking the other night. After she listened to me freak out, she said something that really took a day or two to sink in. She reminded me of how exciting of a time this is, and that it is stressful, but not to miss out on enjoying it, too. And my "adopted mom" (my best friend's mom) reminded me that this is the beginning of a great and wonderful journey.

Wow, I needed those words from both of those wonderful women.

As I've been packing, I've been rediscovering forgotten things...like autograph books from when we went to Disney World as a family, old activities and lesson plans for classes that might find their way into my classroom, music from what feels like a lifetime ago...and picturing life in the new apartment. Creating new memories. Having visitors (hint, hint, my dear family and friends!).

It's fun to remember the past, and it's fun to dream about the future.

There's no going back now!

~"Moving on is a simple thing; what it leaves behind is hard." [-Dave Mustaine]~

Compromised Time

Today was a long day (hence the belated post...again...), so the post I had planned got tossed out the window. Oh, Robert Burns, you and your idea about "the best laid plans." You were on the nose with that one. But it was fantastic.

It's easy enough to lay things aside to soak up things I'll be missing for a while...

Driving up to Racine instead of taking a nap so I can have more time up there? Alright.

Bouncing between Racine and Spring Grove a few times in one day to see my family instead of doing homework? Sure.

Making cheesecake with my aunt according to the Secret Family Recipe and being able to cross it off ye ole To Do List rather than packing? Yes, please.

I always panic right before I'm leaving home, trying to fit in as much time as possible with my family. Maybe it's a preemptive strike against homesickness I'll feel later. Or maybe I have to make up for all of the minutes that I won't be here with them.

Dorothy had it right: There really is no place like home. And it really never gets any easier to leave.

"Out of Chaos..."

This move has an intimidating weight that I am trying to fight from sitting on my shoulders. The excitement is hiding

behind the nerves,

the to do list,

money,

praying for things to come together,

the Unknowns,

and trying to be everywhere for everyone at once before Moving Day.

Enter music that saves my sanity and makes me slow down for a few minutes, that quiets my soul and stills everything.

Yes, this is chaos.

Yes, this is scary.

But yes, this is exciting.

And yes, this is good.

And yes, beautiful things will come from this.

Transitioning Home

It's so strange being home knowing that it's not really coming home -- it's a transition away from home...to a new home...even though this will still be home. (If I were Jack Sparrow, I would follow that up with a "Savvy?" because that was just as confusing as half of the things he says.)

[Oh, sidenote. I stand corrected on my last post. I was not 4 when my grandparents moved to Richmond. I was 5 or 6. There. Happy, Dad? "You see sir, I'm doing this for you." ;)]

Don't misinterpret what I'm saying. I love, love, love being here. It's just different this time.

As I sit in my bedroom, my own corner of the world, here in this wonderful home with my family all within an hour of this very spot, I am comfortable. I am happy. And I'm anxious to soak it all in, every last second because I know that soon my corner of the world will

e x p a n d

beyond a bedroom and morph into an apartment, a whole apartment, all my own. And I will be 8 hours from this wonderful home, from my family. And at first I will not be comfortable and I will not always be happy. I will be anxious to soak that all in, too, but I will also be anxious for the comfort and happiness to come along, for it to feel like home there, too.

And it will...it will just take time. That happens with moving anywhere. I felt it with every single dorm room and the house in Texas. In the end it was just as hard to leave as it was to originally fathom that it would feel comforting. I know that when the time comes to move out of that apartment, I'll shed some tears and some smiles as I pack up and think of all the growing up I'll do within those walls, just like I'll be doing as I pack up to move there.

Yeah, life is happening fast. I really and truly believe there could have been no better time for this blogging challenge than here and now. :)

~"You leave home and move on and you do the best you can." ["The House That Built Me" - Miranda Lambert]~

Leaving Day

This song's been stuck in my head since it popped onto Pandora last week...and it feels like it fits right now.

Thank goodness for music that is sympathetic and speaks the words we can't find for ourselves sometimes.

"Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)" - Green Day

Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go
So make the best of this test, and don't ask why
It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time

It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

So take the photographs, and still frames in your mind
Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time
Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial
For what it's worth it was worth all the while

It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

In the words of a very wise 4-year-old, "Go defeat something else."

[Onward -- to more "times of my life."]