(We got a wild hair, had a different house drop in our laps, decided to list ours briefly and see what happens)

Last week, Nate asked me what I wanted to take with me from this space we have poured ourselves into creating. I looked at him and desperately thought, I want to take the dang drywall! The steps on the back deck where we had our first meal after pulling the carpets out of the house— a pot of pasta, two forks, and wine straight from the bottle (you opened it with the drill, remember?)! I want to take the 120 year old floors I sanded and stained, the knob from the nursery closet door that creaks when it swings open! I want to take the sunlight that pours into the upstairs bedroom window and the way it feels to sit as a family on the old, green couch all squished together in our cozy loft. I want the grape vine and the cherry tree we planted years ago, the front perennial bed that I’ve added a layer to for nearly 8 springs.  The copper sink in the bathroom that has bathed two of my babies beautifully. This house— more than a building, a structure with our marriage and our family and our growth written all over it. I can walk into any room, and memory rushes at me, smacking its lips with the way we stormed and then calmed during projects, the late night hours planning, the the way this house graciously made space for each sweet soul it has sheltered. Ask me what I want to take with me, and I’ll tell you about the bathroom mirror and the dining room lights and the yellow cabinet, but what I really mean is this: I want to take you. You and our babies and I want you to promise me we will do it all again, only this time with small hands helping us along and a baby on each hip.