Love song for a little house

By the time I publish this post, our 1952 brick ranch on a busy Decatur corner will belong to someone else.

We have lived here for 12 years – longer than I have lived in any one place my entire life. We moved in with two cats, a toddler and a newborn and are leaving with two dogs, a teenager and an almost-teen.

I would be lying if I said that we never thought we’d move. We never really planned for this to be our “forever home.”

Life

Close-range parenting

As I write this, I am sitting at the picnic table on our deck. This is my office until about mid-morning when the July heat will make it hotter than hell’s front porch. Then I move to the bedroom.

My husband is working in the corner of the bonus storage room above our carport. It’s the only non-bedroom room with a door. A previous owner added it in order to move the washer and dryer out of the kitchen, but it is the size of a small bedroom – just with a concrete floor and no insulation. So, in between conference calls – his and mine – I run in to move the clothes from one machine to the other.