Well, we did it. We sold our house. In 14 days.

(I’ll wait while you get up off the floor.)

And, yes, we got the house down the street. As long as the buyers don’t flake out or get completely denied a home loan, I will be able to say I’ve pulled off one of the greatest residential transactions in the history of the universe (at least according to Husband, Reigning Real Estate Genius).

And I’m happy and sad. I am happy that we made a killing on a house we’ve only owned five years and that the next house will, indeed, meet the needs of our family for years to come. But at the same time, this little house of ours is, well, ours.

Our Little Red House. It wasn’t always like this. When I found it, it was a Little House of 1988 full of peach, dusty blue, mauve and all things wrong. But I saw the bones. I saw what it could be. I got to pick out all the floors, the walls, the window coverings. I got to make it mine. I never finished implementing my grand vision for the house, but it was well on its way.

I know where everything is in this house. If the lights go out, I can walk around in the dark just fine. It’s the only house The Swimmy remembers (eventhough it’s the second home she’s lived in) and it’s where we brought the Mighty Mighty Benjamin home from the hospital to (and then made a few trips back just for laughs) to start his life and the enjoy the many “firsts” for him.

Times were hard here, then they weren’t. We are happy here. We are at peace here, even with current struggles that pop up because that’s life.

And now it’s time to go. Our next house (G-d willing) is lovely. It has space and all the things we want. It has new appliances, prettiness and a backyard with a playground the kids will love.

But this house has been updated already. Oh, sure, I’ll put my stamp on it (just try and stop me), but the majority of the work has been done and it’s someone else’s heart and soul that’s been poured into it. I worry that I’ll never feel like it’s OUR house, that there will be too much of the THEM left over. And while they are lovely people, I don’t need my home crowded with them.

I feel like there needs to be some sort of ceremony for when we leave this Little Red House and travel 80 whole feet, two houses down to our next home. While I’m excited about all the plans we have for this new house to begin to make it our own, I can’t help but be sad for what we leave behind. I want some reassurance that the next home will help to bring us the kind of peace we have here.

I want to pack up all the silliness and giggles and meals and snuggles and memories into a suitcase and empty them in each room of the next house.

I know this is completely stupid. I know this because the reason we have such wonderful things to pack up is, quite simply, us. And as long as “us” comes along, it doesn’t matter where we live.

But Husband sure is thankful for that extra bath-and-a-half. ‘Cause some of “us” needs some potties.