We’re cleaning you up real spic and span tonight.
Tomorrow there are some strangers coming to visit you to see if they may want to buy you. (I know you were wondering why I was scrubbing the floor in the pantry.) They’ll comment on how big your rooms are — how open your views. They’ll knock on your walls and peek in your closets. And they’ll probably think you’re a nice enough house.
But only time will tell them how you’re a really great home.
How you’re gentle with toddlers when they sprint on your tile. How you hold the sound of a fussy newborn in the cradle of your walls. How you light up at dinner parties and cozy in at Christmas time.
They won’t know how Matt and I slow-danced on your deck in the rain when we were first dating. Or how many times the kids and I colored gardens of chalk on your driveway. Or how we got engaged in your livingroom. And brought our first, second and third-born through your front door. How we spent mornings sipping coffee beneath your trees — and evenings throwing the frisbee for the dog in your grass.
They may comment that you’ve been well cared for — but what they won’t know is how well you’ve cared for us.
Tomorrow we’ll go for a drive while the strangers come to meet you. Don’t be nervous, we’ll make sure you’re good and ready. And know that even though we’re moving away from you — you’ll always be a part of us. You’ve been a good house, a great home, and an unforgettable dwelling where the walls don’t just talk, they sing.
And every word is a love story.
“Be grateful for the home you have, knowing that at this moment, all you have is all you need.” — Sarah Ban Breathnach