Time to Pack the Boxes

Well, it looks like the hubs and I are going to have to move. Sigh. Our landlord has decided to raise our rent, which, after five years I can’t speak a word against. He is a very sweet guy and although its a little sad it may be time.

It’s harder for James than it is for me. This was his “first place”. His bachelor pad straight out of college. It’s where he came home after his first day teaching, not just subbing anymore, the first day of his career. It’s where he checked the internet for dates and left, hoping to meet the girl he would marry. It’s the house he slumped back to when he <I>did</I> meet his future wife - who, at the time had a boyfriend. Across the street, and visible from the front window, is where we had our first kiss. It’s the house I moved into and he lived with a girl for the first time. It’s where we came home after our wedding. It is, our first home, as much as a rental can be.

I’ve moved so often in my life that it’s like water off a duck’s back. In the last seven years I have lived in five places in this neighborhood alone! The only really difficult aspect of leaving our house is memories of my Dad. The last time I saw him before the second stroke was when he came to my birthday party last year. There is one little spot in my living room where I picture him sitting, talking to the dog and I still dissolves into tears.

But, it’s time to start fresh and new. We are newlyweds, afterall, this is part and parcel I guess. And now I get to envision other floor plans and kitchen organizing — everyone knows how much I hate that!