The red house has been our home for 5 years now. 2 babies have been born here; 34 parties have been thrown here; 180 games of Boggle have been played here (every one of which has been won by me, of course); 900 block towers have been built and bombed here; 1,750 meals have been cooked here- 1,748 of which have been devoured and 2 of which had to be given funeral services in a Wal-Mart shopping bag after multiple attempts to overcome the gag relfexes they stimulated; thousands of boo-boos have been healed here; millions of tears have been shed here and double that peals of laughter have bounced off these walls. The red house has, indeed, been a home.
5 years ago when we found her and took her in, the glory of the wayward red house was hidden behind layers of filthy, peeling wallpaper representing every decade of bad taste since her building back in 1922. Hidden behind 1987 brass fittings, cat hair, shag carpet, and enough pine panelling to keep us warm 5 winters. But take her in we did. The initial peeling and scrubbing started right away and lasted three weeks. Sunrise to sunset. After which I cried all day and shrieked that I wanted out! I never wanted to adopt this dinosaur! But alas, it was too late. She was ours.
And over time, she grew on me. My husband was able easier to see the incredible place she would- and did- become. Me, well, I was pregnant and unable to see past the summer heat that brought out the cat-urine smell from the floors. But after a couple years the cat smell faded and slowly she has emerged into a truly stately place. We're proud of her, of course, don't get me wrong. But like a child grown to maturity, we feel she needs to be set free. All 11 rooms and 2 hallways of her.
And this is the story of how we are letting her go. And where we go from here. And why.
3 Little Blockbuilders resting against The Red House
No comments:
Post a Comment