See, the thing is, I really love my house. I do. I fell even more deeply, head over heels in love during the holidays when I saw just how much it could do. It can wrap its arms around a lot of people and give them all a place to rest. It can invite a crowd around a dinner table. It can encourage people to lay back, put their feet up, and take a nap. It can let the adults talk downstairs while the kids get as squirrely as they want everywhere else. It's a good house, and I love it.
Maybe I love it even more because I know we are leaving. In about 5-6 months we will be driving away from Mesa onto new adventures. My Mr. Wicke has a new job that looks to take us to Southern California (placement to be determined around May) and I am a little broken hearted. This was supposed to be our forever house. The one where we stay and put down roots. That was the plan...
That just isn't how it's going down. And I know it's a good job. It's a good opportunity. And I love California. But I can't help being a little sad for us. Because I'm in love, and not just with the house, but with the people that come and go through its doors. The people who have made this house our home.
