BitterSweet

Bittersweet.
I've never known the true meaning until now.
Today a wall came down in my house. Now, I know you're sitting at your computer completely puzzled as to why this is so earth shattering that it deserves it's own blog post. Lemme explain.
By the time I was 9, I had moved 20+ times. The longest time I had ever lived in one place was 2 years. I didn't ever have a "childhood home". Somewhere I could drive my kids to when I was older, point it out, and say, "This is the house I grew up in."
Instead, we would have to sit down and make a chart of all the freaking places I've lived and then say, "Now kids this is where I lived for four months in the spring of 2005."

And then I moved here. I've lived in this house almost 5 and a half years. Which is insane for me.
And, yes, I do want to move... because that's who I am.

But when they started taking that wall down today, I felt some sort of weird emotion I'd never felt before. I was totally conflicted.
I didn't want the wall down because I'd lived here for 5 years.
I spent over a third of my life here...
After moving 20+ times, that is completely insane for me to handle.

I stood in the toyroom after they left today, and looked straight into the living rooms past the beams and wood. It felt... bittersweet.
It felt bitter because this meant we probably weren't moving for a long time.
It felt sweet because I realized...
this is the house I would drive my kids by someday and say, "This is the house I grew up in."
And I never thought I'd be able to say that.