We’re putting our house on the market and preparing to relocate. I can hear your thoughts—you’re probably envious of the notion that packing up a home filled with memories after six years, all while wrangling three kids, sounds like a delightful adventure.
Believe me, it’s a mixed experience.
“Aiming to make it look like their home, not yours,” the realtor states bluntly.
I dive into cleaning, scrubbing the carpets and wiping the walls free of dirt. The nail polish stains, greasy fingerprints, and stray crayon marks—all come off (thankfully!).
I organize our closets, donate furniture, and throw away long-expired snacks. I gather stray coins (my husband’s), Lego pieces (the kids’), and mini moisturizers (mine). I stow away the baby clothes and sleep sacks my little ones have outgrown until… I stumble upon memories.
I uncover an old photograph my husband took just before he popped the question. My focus is on a VHS case in a video rental store (remember those?), lost in thought about our movie choice for the night (ah, our twenties!), with a flat stomach (how I miss that!) and a serene smile. I linger on it for a moment, and for some reason, I leave it on my dresser.
Next, I tuck away picture frames showcasing my boys—some featuring those adorable chubby-cheeked baby faces, and others capturing the cheeky grins of toddlers. I stash their beloved bedtime stories in drawers and pack up the “daily sheets” documenting their daycare years—yes, every single one! I reluctantly put the water table out for trash pickup, reminiscing about all the joy it brought them. A crack formed this winter, splitting it in two.
I purge my closet, letting go of those skinny jeans. It’s liberating. I toss my law school notes, but keep that naive college essay about The Social Contract. Naturally, it’s tucked away under the bed.
I part with the rocking chair my mother used when I was a baby. It’s time to let it go; one arm is broken.
I clean and tidy, trying to create the illusion that we never lived here. But we did.
This is where my sons experienced “tummy time,” learned to crawl, and took their first steps. These hallways were where we walked to lull our newborns to sleep. That roof deck? It was our refuge when my spirited firstborn needed a break in the summer breeze. There’s the front stoop where I sat, soaking in the bittersweet days of maternity leave.
See that scratch on the kids’ bedroom door? That’s from a tantrum when my son kicked it so hard it slammed into the bookshelf. The marks on the kitchen cabinets? Evidence of bike rides through our first floor, letting off steam during those long winter days when outdoor play was out of reach.
This staircase? It’s where I rested during my first labor. From that top step, we counted those sweet early contractions—the ones that started it all.
That front door? We walked through it with each of our sons, bringing them home from the hospital just four blocks away. The rocking chair in the corner? I nursed all three of my boys there while “Baby Mine” softly played in the background.
Now we move forward. I know it’ll be a positive change for us—a new state, new schools, fresh careers, new friends, and a new chapter. Sometimes, a fresh start is just what you need.
But oh, how I’ll cherish these playgrounds! These familiar streets. The way my kids have memorized the route home from school. How we can hardly make it to the corner without running into a friend or neighbor—they’ve become family.
Through this process of cleaning and letting go, I’ve realized something important. It’s not about the physical walls that define a home; it’s the family and memories we’ve built here that we carry with us. What truly defines us isn’t the material things; it’s the essence of who we are, and that comes with us wherever we go.
We’ll do our best to make this house look like someone else’s home. But for now? It’s ours, and in a way, it always will be.
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Summary:
Clara reflects on her family’s impending move and the memories tied to their home. As she prepares to sell, she navigates the bittersweet process of packing up years of experiences and cherished moments, realizing that home is defined by the love and memories shared, not just the physical space.