Home

On Sunday I said goodbye to my childhood home. Despite feeling okay about it for the last few months, this weekend hit me harder than expected. I know that this is a good move for my family. I know that even if the physical place is no longer mine, the memories still exist. And yet, when the time came, I found it hard to leave.

I remember my very first memory in the house. I was in kindergarten when we moved in, and that very first day I sat in the dining room at a little tiny desk (there was no other furniture set up) and ate rolled up cold cuts for lunch.

Many of the memories I have in this house -- good and bad -- have come flooding back over the past few days.

Playing "keep it up" for hours in the hallway with Rose and Laura.

Using the hallway and living room couch as my private vault for gymnastics practice.

Talking with Jonas on the driveway at 3 am.

My 8th grade birthday party where everyone jumped in my tiny pool in their clothes and the cops came.

Back when I was a jacked gymnast

The party I threw in 10th grade while my parents were away (which I still won't admit to).

Sitting on pillows and flying off the treadmill into the wall in the basement.

Hours upon hours spent in the basement trolling AOL.

The first time I felt what it was like to love and be loved by a boy.

Playing soccer in the backyard.

Swimming in the pool with my dad.

Playing Bubble Bobble with Liz in the basement.

Bringing Tami (our first cat) outside to walk in the sun on the day we put her to sleep.

Laying on my mom in the "pink room" while she rubbed my hair and talked on the phone.

Doing my homework on the floor of the dining room while my cat slept on my back.

Playing Out of Order with friends in the basement.

Playing beer pong with my dad at my graduation party.

Learning my mom was pregnant with Laura.

Planting vegetables every summer with my neighbor Bill.

I almost forgot that my old house had a different exterior! It used to be brown wood paneling.

Dancing to Come on Eileen with Nina.

Coloring easter eggs in the kitchen.

Wondering every year if I really saw Santa's boot go up the chimney on Christmas Eve.

Making Thanksgiving antipasto in the kitchen with my sisters.

Throwing my mom a surprise 40th birthday at the house.

Teaching myself to play the keyboard in the living room.

There are countless more, of course.

So what is a home anyway? Is it a place? Is it people? Is it a feeling? On the Valentines Day episode of Orange 

is the New Black the girls make a video where they explain what "love" means to them. I loved Piper's answer: "Love is like coming home after a long trip." Coming home. That's a feeling like no other.

I think for me home means love, comfort, and acceptance. And home is the people who make me feel that way. New York and Boston are both my homes now. And maybe soon I will make a third home somewhere else.

Because I'm starting to get emotional, I'm going to wrap this post up with some photos of funny things I came across while going through my room:

I was obsessed with whales and wrote many...books..about them. I was always trying to convince people that orcas are friendly!

"favorite foods are pizza and burger king"

I begged for a power wheels every year and never got one. Apparently I updated this at some point and wanted awesome clothes.

Got Milk ads...LOL

If you can read what I circled here it's pretty hysterical. Taxi driver? Electrician?

Another book with the enlightening title: Can I get a Poll. AKA Pool

And finally, some photos of the house (all packed up), so I can remember it always.

The block

<3

"The pink room" AKA living room

Kitchen

The backyard

The family room

Family room again and my favorite chair

My room. Empty :(

Last shot with dad in front of 269 N. Oak.