Moving Ten Feet Away

We are moving into my parents old house. Actually, we've already brought the majority of our stuff over and we've been sleeping there since Sunday night. However, my parents still have a lot of stuff that they’re coming back to get this weekend and we still have plenty that we need to move over from the old house. We’re in “transition” I guess you could say.

Sleeping in my parents old room has been weird. Seeing our things go up and theirs come down has been unsettling. I know that this is “just a house”, and people move all of the time, but I still feel really weird about this. I’m living in the house that I grew up in, again. There are so many memories attached to this place. Some great, some not so great. But it’s always been the place that grounded me because it was my parents’. Because when I entered that house there was always a game on TV, food being cooked, and my mother and grandmother talking in the kitchen. It was so familiar, and secure. Walking into that home I felt like I was a piece of a bigger puzzle. I belonged there because of them.

One great memory I have is how our family time consisted of my brother and I waking up early every Sunday and jumping on my parents bed to talk with them. We’d talk about our week, what we needed to get done, sports, what we had planned for the next few days, and just how we were doing. So it seems strange to me, walking into their room and seeing all of our things in there. I’m not the only one confused either. Emery will walk in and she’ll ask for grandma and grandpa. Or she’ll turn the TV off in the living room and say “Mom, lets go home.” I tell her that this is our home, and she just shakes her head no and says “No. This Grandma’s house.” I think we all wake up a little, off?

So what I've realized is that this is going to take some getting used to. This place is and will always be, my parents house. I don’t consider it mine. Not sure if I ever will. Last night, my husband noticed how unsettled I was and asked if I’d like our pictures to come down for a while. We didn't take them down of course because that would have been a hassle. He had spent all day moving our things and putting up our stuff that I didn't have the heart to have him take it all down. But for a split second I actually considered it. Not that it would have done me any good. It doesn't change the fact that I wake up in their room, and that I cook in their kitchen. Nothing will change that until we can finally afford to have our own place. Until then, I hope this weirdness goes away soon. It’s not like my parents our gone, they've just moved so I don’t know why my head is having such a hard time with this. I've lived in several different places so it’s strange that I feel like this. I think anyways.

On the bright side, we moved over just in time. Fall is officially here in our little part of Texas. Temperatures over night have been in the 30’s and during the day the highest so far has been 65. Not sure if it’s here to stay, because with Texas you never know, but it looks like we’re finally about to get that really cold weather. It’s also nice being able to shower and not have to walk back over to our house all wet. During the winter that used to suck. And I like having a FULL kitchen with a working stove! I’m able to cook more than one thing at a time now! I like having a gas heater that heats the entire house instead of small space heaters in every room. And I love that my mother gave me her full permission to decorate/paint/remodel whatever and however I wanted. So despite the weird feelings, I’m really grateful to be in a fully functioning home. I'm grateful to have parents that continue to help my family and I in whatever they can. I am so grateful to have them in my life. It's the little things after all, right?