I am a mother of three boys and one girl, my youngest son Walker is developmentally delayed with no diagnosis, I am divorced and re-married, living life as I never imagined. I may be cynical, but I try to see the world as it is.... no frills but plenty of laughs.
"A house is a house for me" are the lyrics to a favorite children's song by Fred Prenner. In it he plays on the riddles to have children guess what each item is a house for. Example: a hill is an house for a ___ (an ant), a glove is a house for a hand ___ (hand) etc. I've been thinking though what truly is a house for me? Is it an idea? is it the roof over my head? is it the people inside it? Through out my life I have had many homes. So to me, they physically don't have much emotional attachment to me. The hardest one to let go of, was my 1st house I owned. And even though I only lived in it for four months, letting it go was hard. I was letting go of a dream that I had had... the white picket fence, the status of being a "home owner". It took me some time to let go, to realize that I could be happy in a box if that meant... I was my own person. That I was happy with myself and those around me. Letting go of our current house is not that big of a deal to me, but I understand my husbands reserves. I understand because I too went through it. It is a grieving process. A process of letting go. I will give him time to grieve because a house with him is a house for me.