Moving in to an old house is such a strange thing. It's weird to be unpacking boxes in familiar surroundings...to already know where everything goes. It's good to be back. I have so many memories of this little house. It was our first house; Spencer and I bought this when we were a family of two. All my kids were born here. (Not here as in inside the house, but this is where they came home to.) Spencer and I have put a lot of our own blood, sweat and tears into this place. I sat alone putting beds together the other day and was overwhelmed with joy. This house is a happy place for me. I will always love it.
Our neighbors have happily welcomed us back with cards and bags of freshly picked apples and sun ripened tomatoes. And a very dear friend and neighbor, despite insisting I didn't need help, showed up with pruning shears to take care of massive over growth and cleaning supplies and cleaned the shower. (And watched my kids, and cleaned up their messes and made us dinner as we were moving in).
It's a shame I had no internet through it all (though I got much more done because of that). Moving yielded so many blog-worthy stories including a trip to the emergency room, but because the recency has worn off, I probably won't get to them.
I only have one last thing to say:
Welcome home Smith family. Welcome home!