this is one of the very last sundays in the home we raised our first born in. we signed papers to a house we had been in love with for months last wednesday (more on this later) and in two weeks, we will say goodbye to our life here and it will be so very bittersweet. but mostly, very much (like, oh my god) sweet. you can see a photo of our home here.
i can hear the sound of cars pass, like i do each and every day, and lights from the neighbors just came on and my husband is sitting next to me on our couch, sipping dark red wine and rubbing my toes and making piano beats on my knees. he's talking and laughing while i write, and my gray cat winnie is curled up on my left hip and the orange twinkle lights i hung before halloween are still up making tiny little sparkles on our window.
this is usually how sunday happens after gus goes to sleep. it's how our sundays are and that won't ever change.
we have been talking about all we will do in our new home. how many hours we will push gus under the swing on the giant sycamore tree. how we will chase him up the hardwood stairs and how we will have dance parties and early morning fires and warm bubble baths. we thought of having a giant game of hide-and-seek in all the secret doors and how we will open the french doors in the living room and let gus run out and play for as long as his little heart wants. i can't wait to photograph the roses through the seasons and welcome friends, new and old into our home and have them stay for as long as they like.
we talked of getting a dog and raising a few chickens and even planting our christmas tree to match all the others that have been planted before.
i will spend most of this week photographing the home that has been so good to us. all the rooms, all our annoyances. the wrap around deck that we first walked up as a family. the back room where i learned to nurse. the kitchen where so many meals were cooked and the stains on the living room floor where so many spills happened. the backyard with all the fruit trees and jasmine and the ivy and the magical hydrangea bush that never dies.
i will photograph it all until it's time to be put into boxes. but for now, i am holding onto this time of in-between and trying to memorize our first home together.
because there is nothing like your first home. good or bad. ugly or beautiful.
there's so much good, and that's what i will always hold on to the most.