We’ve decided to sell our home and embark on a new adventure. I can already hear your thoughts—you’re probably green with envy, picturing the thrill of packing up a house that has been your haven for six years while juggling three lively kids. Believe me, it’s a rollercoaster ride.
“The objective is to present it as if it’s the buyers’ home, not yours,” a realtor bluntly states.
To prepare, I get the carpets cleaned and scrub the walls spotless. Those nail polish smudges, greasy handprints, and rogue crayon doodles—thankfully, they all come off. I organize closets, donate furniture, and toss out applesauce and breakfast bars that have long overstayed their welcome. I gather stray coins (my husband’s), Lego pieces (the kids’), and travel-sized lotions (mine). I tuck away baby clothes and sleep sacks that have been outgrown, until…memories come flooding back.
I stumble upon an old photograph my partner took just hours before he proposed. In it, I’m lost in thought, staring at a VHS case in a video rental store—remember those? I’m reminiscing about what movie to watch that night, flat-stomached and carefree. I pause, holding the photo for a moment longer, and decide to leave it on my dresser.
I stow away frames filled with pictures of my boys—some showcasing their chubby-cheeked baby faces that seem to fade from memory, others capturing the cheeky grins of toddlers. I hide their favorite bedtime stories in drawers and pack away the “daily sheets” chronicling their daycare adventures—I’ve saved every one. I reluctantly place the water table by the curb on trash day, remembering the joy the boys found in it, now cracked from this harsh winter.
I clear out my closet, bidding farewell to those skinny jeans—it’s oddly liberating. I toss my law school notes, but keep that overly optimistic college paper on The Social Contract. Tucked under my bed, of course.
I part with the rocking chair that once belonged to my mother. It’s seen better days, and one arm is broken. Time to let go.
I scrub and clean, trying to erase the traces of our life here. But this is where my sons learned to crawl, then walk. These hallways were our sanctuary, where we rocked our newborns to sleep. That rooftop deck? We cherished the summer evenings there, trying to soothe my spirited firstborn. And that front stoop? It was my perch during the quiet, beautiful days of maternity leave.
See that mark on the kids’ bedroom door? That’s from a tantrum when my son kicked it in frustration. Those scuffs on the kitchen cabinets? They’re from the boys racing their bikes through the house during long winter days.
And this staircase? It’s where I lay when I was in labor for the first time, counting and timing the sweet, intense contractions that led to our family’s beginning. That front door? Each of our babies passed through it, coming home from the hospital just four blocks away. And that rocking chair in the corner? I nursed all three of my sons there, with “Baby Mine” playing softly in the background.
Now we’re ready to move forward. I have faith it’s going to be good for us—a new state, new schools, fresh job opportunities, new friendships, a new chapter. Sometimes, a fresh start is just what you need.
Yet, I’ll miss these parks, the familiar streets, and how my kids know the route from home to school by heart. How we can hardly make it to the corner without running into a friend or neighbor—those connections have become our family.
As I clean and sort, I realize it’s not about the bricks and mortar. It’s not the house that transforms into a home. What truly matters—the family we’ve built, the memories we’ve created—will always be with us. It’s not about possessions or places; it’s about who we’ve become, and we carry that everywhere we go.
We’re doing our best to make this house feel like someone else’s home. But for now? It’s ours, and in a way, it always will be.
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Summary
In this reflective piece, Maria Thompson shares the bittersweet experience of selling her family home after six years. As she prepares for the move, she uncovers cherished memories tied to the space, realizing that it’s not the house itself that holds value but the memories and love within.
Keyphrase
moving forward with family
Tags
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