Ex's

I've come to the conclusion that moving is a bit like breaking up with a boyfriend. Let me explain. When you break up with a boyfriend, it is always bitter sweet. There is a part of you that knows it's time to move on - the are more fish in the sea and all that. Yet, there is a part of you that is afraid to let go of the comfortable - the KNOWN.

That is how I felt moving out of our house on Cumberland Drive. I knew it was time to move on. We were bursting at the seams - either Rich was going to have to get rid of some fishing gear, or I was going to have to sell some purses (and we both knew that was Not Happening). Or maybe I could have issued ban on new toys (yeah, right. Have you met my mother?) Yes, our new house will have more closet space. And a toy room.

But, on the other hand, what if we look back at Cumberland and realize that life was so much simpler there? What if our neighbors don't laugh at Rich's dumb jokes like Jack and Gretchyn did? What if I can't find a new grocery store I like? What if the new house never feels like home?

When I was cleaning the house, erasing any evidence that our family had lived there for close to seven years, I noticed a little hand print on the wall. Normally, I would be annoyed. But not that day. Tears welled up in my eyes. I hesitated.... Annessa won't be making hand prints here anymore....

I dipped my rag into the bucket and erased the hand print so that the new family could start fresh.