We moved to Georgia in the middle of my third grade year. That was awful. Making friends in the middle of the year was definitely the hardest adjustment for me; I was a shy eight year old who didn't want to leave the only friends I had ever really known. We had moved to Hilton Head, South Carolina right after I had turned four, so any friends I made before moving there were merely memories engraved in photographs. I had had a pretty difficult time making friends in Savannah, but was somehow still sad about leaving when the time came to move again. I was mostly upset because I didn't particularly like change as a kid; once again I would have to make new friends, meet new teachers, go to a new school, be the "new girl."
While I felt somewhat helpless about not having any voice in whether we moved or not, my parents did give me a choice as to whether I wanted to stay with my mom in Savannah until the house sold (whenever that might be) or move to Durham at the beginning of the school year. I had already experienced moving in the middle of the school year, so I knew that I definitely didn't want to do that. I wasn't sure what it would be like living with just my dad, but I figured I could survive for at least a little while.
When we first moved to Durham, my dad and I lived in a small, dreary two bedroom apartment. It was on the first floor and wasn't anything spectacular, but it suited our needs for the short period of time that we had to live there. By the time the house sold in Savannah, and my mom moved up to Durham, I was completely ready to move out of that tiny apartment with my dad and have a little more space. For me, as a somewhat bratty pre-teen, my dad seemed like a tyrant at times. He wanted to watch sports on TV at the exact same time that I wanted to watch 90210; and most of the time, he would be asleep on the chair but still have control over the remote. It was maddening! I survived though, and four months later, my mom, dad, and I moved into a two story rental house close to my middle school. We lived there for a year until moving into our new house.
Our new house became home and the one place I could actually call home for longer than 4 years. Over the past 15 years, it became the one place we could all call home. (My brother and sister moved around more than I did as kids.) Now that my parents are finalizing their divorce, and there is a contract on the house, we won't be able to call this "home" anymore. We will no longer have a single house to refer to "home," as many grown adults refer to the place where their parents still live to this day, where they grew up. My brother and sister did not "grow up" here in Durham, but for the most part, I would say that I have. I spent a multitude of time in this house--through middle school, high school, college, and after college years. I'm a huge sucker for traditions, and so, I'm quite sad that I have to say goodbye to the one place I could once call "home."
Home...
My dad's gazebo-esque area...
The formal living room with practically brand new furniture since we never sat in here. I would say that we were never allowed to sit in here, but I think I have sat on that couch a few times.
A view through the connecting doors from the den...
An alcove next to the stairs...The rocking horse and chair were once mine as a child. :)
A gift from my great-grandmother. I will keep it in my house someday, when I finally "settle" down.
I love this bathroom! In the room over the garage (once my brother's room) is this great hide-a-way bathroom that looks like it would be a closet when you close the door and see it from the bedroom. I always wished this bathroom had been mine!
A peek through the window onto the deck from the stairs outside the room over the garage...
Ahh, the porch. I love porches. I really love watching lightning rain storms from the porch.
Which way is Michigan? Send my dad that way for football season...
