Our realtor came over the other day so we could sign the papers. The moment she arrived at the door, the skies spewed forth a torrent of rain and cacophony of thunder. Thunderstorms are extremely rare in Southern California and absolutely unheard of in July. A superstitious person might have considered that an omen.
Oh, who am I kidding? I'm totally superstitious, and I did take it as an omen, but as a good one. We all thought the storm was pretty cool. If I needed any reassurance, when it had passed a lovely little rainbow appeared over the house.
(Sorry I didn't get a better shot. My camera has about 50 different scenery categories to choose from, but "rainbow at dusk" isn't one of them.)
Getting the house on the market allows us to cross off a huge item on our to-do list, but it's also the most emotional step we've taken.
I have moved a lot in my life. Not counting dorm rooms, I have called 13 different abodes home. Although I abhor the actual process of moving (packing, cleaning, loading, cleaning, unloading, unpacking, cleaning), I love being in new places. I'm always a little sad to leave an old dwelling, but mostly excited to get a new one.
It's different this time, though. I'm excited about our journey, of course, but leaving means more now. It's not just about me this time; it's about us. This is our first house, together, as a family. Elias was six weeks old when we bought it. This is the home Anna came home to after she was born. We had intentions of possibly staying here forever.
At the same time, I have never been one to plan too far ahead because life never works out exactly as you expected, and that's not necessarily a bad thing.
In the long run, I don't think this is a decision we'll regret having made. Even so, it's hard to say good-bye.
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