We are in the process of selling our home and preparing for a move. I can already hear your thoughts—you’re likely envious of the chaotic thrill that comes with packing up a house you’ve called home for six years, especially with three children in tow.
Trust me, it’s quite a mixed experience.
“The objective is to present the space as if it belongs to potential buyers, not you,” a realtor tells me bluntly.
I arrange for carpet cleaning and scrub the walls until they shine. The remnants of nail polish, sticky fingerprints, and stray crayon marks—all of it thankfully washes away.
I tidy the closets, donate furniture, discard long-expired snacks like applesauce and breakfast bars, and gather stray change (courtesy of my husband), Lego pieces (thanks to my kids), and travel-sized lotions (mine). I tuck away baby clothes and sleep sacks that my children have outgrown, until I stumble upon memories.
I uncover an old photograph my partner took of me just hours before he proposed. I notice how my eyes are glued to a VHS case in a video rental store (remember those?), lost in thought over our movie choice for the evening (ah, our twenties!), slim and carefree. I linger on that image for a moment, and for some reason, it remains on my dresser.
I carefully store picture frames filled with images of my boys—some showcasing their adorable, chubby-cheeked baby faces, while others capture their cheeky toddler grins.
I hide away the children’s cherished bedtime stories in drawers and pack the “daily sheets” that document their daycare years—I’ve saved every one. I place the water table by the curb on trash day, reminiscing about the joy it brought my sons until this winter’s chill cracked it down the middle.
I purge my closet of the skinny jeans. It feels freeing. I finally toss my law school outlines, but I keep that naïve college essay on The Social Contract, neatly tucked under the bed.
I part ways with the rocking chair my mother used when I was an infant. It’s time to let go, especially since one arm is broken.
I clean and organize, attempting to create the illusion that we never lived here. But we did.
This is the carpet where my children experienced “tummy time,” learned to crawl, and took their first steps. These hallways were where we rocked our newborns to sleep. That’s the roof deck we frequented when my spirited firstborn needed to calm down in the soothing summer air. That front stoop? I spent countless lovely yet lonely moments there during maternity leave.
See that scratch on the kids’ bedroom door? My son kicked it during a tantrum, knocking it into the bookcase. And those scuff marks on the kitchen cabinets? They’re from my boys racing their bikes along the first floor to release energy before bedtime or during the long, dreary winter days.
This staircase? I lay on it during my first labor experience. From that top step, we counted and measured the intensity of those sweet, early contractions that began our journey.
That front door? It welcomed each of our babies home from the hospital just four blocks away. That rocking chair in the corner? I nursed all three of my sons there, with “Baby Mine” softly playing in the background.
Now, we prepare to move on. I know it will be beneficial for us—a new state, fresh schools, new careers, new friends, a new chapter altogether. A fresh start can be invigorating.
Yet, I will deeply miss these playgrounds, these familiar streets, and the way my kids have memorized the route from home to school. It’s remarkable how we can hardly reach the corner without encountering a friend or neighbor—who have become like family.
Through this cleaning and decluttering process, I have learned that it’s not merely about these four walls. The essence of what makes a house a home lies in the memories and experiences we’ve built here. Those cherished moments, the love that has blossomed—they will accompany us wherever we go.
We’ll endeavor to make this house appear like someone else’s future home. But for now? It belongs to us, and in many ways, it always will be ours.
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Summary
In the journey of relocating, a homeowner reflects on the cherished memories created in their house over six years. While the process of packing and cleaning can be overwhelming, it reinforces the understanding that a home is defined by the experiences shared within it, not just the physical structure. As they prepare for a new chapter, they recognize that the love and memories they’ve built will always remain with them.