Today, we’re moving out of the condo. Typing that sentence makes me want to jump up and down and simultaneously plants a lump in my throat.
Truthfully, I never intended to live in this condo for so long. Back when I bought it, people were buying and flipping properties as far as the eye could see – especially in Phoenix. I figured I’d buy it and sell it a few years later when I was blowing out of the Southwest. I would use the money I’d pocketed to buy an amazing house back East.
I’m funny, aren’t I?
So that didn’t work out, on account of that whole housing market collapse nonsense, and here we are, stuck with a condo until the end of time.
We’ve lived here for six years, almost to the day. This condo has seen a combined total of five different jobs and four couches. We’ve burned through and had to replace every single appliance. We’ve upgraded every square inch of flooring, some with our own hands (and by “our,” I mean “my Dad and Mike’s”).
Or maybe Mike just “supervised.”
It’s the place where we popped open a bottle of cheap champagne to toast our engagement.
It’s where our extended families met for the first time.
(Suddenly remembering why I redecorated…)
It’s where I told Mike our family was expanding; it was our son’s first home.
There are reasons – good ones – why we’re leaving. We need more space, we are tired of the second-floor, shared-wall existence. We want to stretch out. We want a place that feels more like a home and less like a burden.
But I hope that’s not what I remember about this place – a place I’ve lived longer than any other home my entire life. Instead, I hope I’ll remember the countless Christmas cookies that were baked in the kitchen.
The annual Easter brunches with friends and Thanksgivings with family.
I’ll remember the way we used to eat dinner every night (pre-kid) slouched on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table. The deck beers. The 90s music we’d blare on the weekends while we were cleaning. The clanging sound the gate made that announced Mike was home from work. The awesomeness (and decorating nightmare) that was the green wall in the bedroom.
It’ll be a hard habit to break to stop saying “the condo” and start saying “the house.” I’ve already been corrected about 17 times. But it was our home for a long time… so I think it should be a hard habit to break.
But it’s also time to look forward: to backyard barbecues, Christmas stockings hanging at the fireplace, and all the years of new memories ahead of us.