I saw the house we will be renting for the first time today and I cried.
It is not an awful house per say, but it is not mine.
The house we moved into with our twins was ours. We bought it and made in our own. It was our first and we were in love.
The house we leased in NH was ours, we thought we were going to be there forever and raise our children and grandchildren in it.
We made plans in it. We had dreams in it.
Now we are renters again and the house is small and ugly like bulldog ugly.
The boys will have to share a room and our bedroom will not fit all of our furniture.
It has one bath.
We have to finish the basement in order to fit our furniture in it. And our "stuff".
I didn't want to cry as I walked into the small kitchen with the teeny oven and no counter space. I felt the tears well up as I looked over the poorly painted walls and the old wooden cabinets. I knew it made E feel bad, as he was the one who picked this house.
I wanted to pick up my purse and turn on my heel right out the front door.
I don't want to pay what I paid on my mortgage for this tiny house, I don't want my kids to have to downsize everything just to "fit" in this home.
I am angry and sad. I want to rage against the machine. I want to scream at the top of my lungs on a mountain top.
I want to live in a home again, not just a house.
But, Tuesday Girl, a house is a house you have to make it your home you will tell me.
I know, I know I will say back to you and pat you on your head.
I do know, but at the same time, I don't want to know anything and just feel what I feel.
3 months ago