A house that once was, but now isn't a home.

There is a kids book with that title--The House that Once Was. It is a lyrical and sweet book. Check it out on my book blog today if you want to know all my thoughts and feelings on it. 

Anyway, that phrase has been going through my mind a lot lately as we were in the middle of moving out of and selling our little house. 

As ridiculous as this is, I can't find a picture of the front of our little house. So I am putting up one our real estate agent took. 

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I think part of the reason I loved this house so is that it reminded me of that book, The Little House that was my absolute favorite when I was a kid

Okay, okay, it might not be an exact replica, but it sort of looks like it. And this book anthropomorphizes houses. This little house is happy, curious, lonely, overwhelmed, sad, and then relieved by turns. 

Houses have feelings!

And I have feelings about houses. 

I didn't find pictures of the front of the house, but I found a lot of pictures of the inside that Gilbert took when he occasionally steals my camera. 

These aren't stellar pictures, but they are pictures of our house, full of life. And Gilbert's fingers.

We had a lot of fun in this house. I mean, there was plenty of not so fun times, but overall, life was pretty grand. 

There were a lot of sunrises and sunsets

And even a lunar eclipse this spring!

After reading books that gave houses generous doses of feelings, I had severe pangs about selling this house that had been so faithful and sheltering to us for all those years. How could we just walk out and leave it? It would miss us and all our noise and confusion! It was cruelty! 

Moving out was done very quickly and efficiently. We had a large team of super awesome people who got the job done lickety-split. I didn't manage to take many pictures because things were a little busy, but here is a picture of them moving the piano. And people who are willing to help you move a piano are people you should work hard at keeping in your life because that kind of person is somewhat rare in this world. To be fair, I probably know several other people who would have helped if they were around. But here is Dale, Dan, and Owen helping Justin get the piano out the front door. 

After all the fuss and bother of sorting, packing, moving, and settling in, the reality of leaving our dear little house became a little more real. I didn't want to acknowledge this reality, so I pretended it wasn't happening. Our closing was delayed several times due to clerical errors, so I didn't have to really face it too much. Then came the day of the buyer's final walk through. And while the sentimental me didn't want to sell it, the practical me, who is fully aware of the fact that we have a new foundation to build on and building upon it requires money, wanted the final walk through to go well. So I went over to check on the house and tidy up the flower beds for fall for the last time ever. I cried a lot the night before. Okay, I full on sobbed. I felt like I was losing a friend who saw me at my worst and maybe my best and still was stoically just there for me. But then, after saying tragic goodbyes to all the plants I planted, loved and tended for almost a decade, (Wah!!) I went inside. 

And there it was. And it was still a dear little house. But it wasn't ours anymore. it was a house that once was, but now isn't a home. 

I will still be sentimental about this house. The first house we ever owned and the house that saw so many milestones and life events. But I have a level of detachment about it. Because once you take out the things and the people, it stops being the same dear friend and just becomes cabinets, floors, and windows, and walls. 

(Side note--Do you ever think about the useless knowledge we accumulate in life? Just looking at this picture, I remember the feel of opening the different cabinets and where things go and just the right angle for the perfect temperature of water for washing dishes. I will never need to know those things again. But my brain will likely hold on to them for a good while. Maybe forever. The things we carry with us.) 

So goodbye sweet little yellow house. You loved us well.