As we slowly inch closer to the date that we are supposed to move (3 more weeks), the bittersweet starts to show its face. There is no doubt that we need to sell our townhouse that we live in now. Financially, it's the right thing to do. We've been out of space longer than Justin Timberlake has been lookin' good. We are SO over the whole home owners association thing. Alexis needs a fenced yard. There is ZERO doubt that it's the right choice.

But.

Looking around, there are little memories, important memories, memories I want to keep. There's the scuff in the wood floors that I swear Alexis used to trip over. It's totally a crazy thought that a tiny little scratch could make a newly walking baby trip, but she really did have a magical way of falling right there. All the time.

When I walk up the stairs, I see a flaw in the molding. It's the spot that the Bulldog, Meg, once decided to attack. She literally chewed a hole in the wall, and we've never known why. It was a one-time crazy, so I can only guess the wall told her that her butt looked big when she stomped down the stairs. That spot reminds me that the puppy isn't the only house destroyer in the family, and at least he goes after furniture which is easier to fix or replace.

Walking into the kitchen, I always notice the corbels that hold up the small section of counter to the right. They are a reminder of a kitchen remodel gone horribly wrong, but that later turned out perfect. Mr. Husband spent hours staining those corbels, and even longer perfectly mounting them to the wall so that they would safely support the stone counter top. They weren't in my original vision, but he made them work.

Upstairs, I take pause when I walk past the spot where Jasmine passed away. It's just a little corner of our bedroom, but it's so much more. It's her spot. It's the place where she was when I last heard her whimper, where the spirit of the best dog we'll ever have left us unexpectedly in the middle of the night.

And then there is Alexis' room. Every inch of it holds memories, but most especially the walls. I spent hours carefully hand painting murals in her room in the weeks before she was born, before we knew she was a she. There's the Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe on one wall, Hey Diddle Diddle on the next, and Humpty Dumpty on the third. It's the Humpty Dumpty wall that most gives me pause. On that wall is Hank, the horseman. When Alexis was tiny, her changing pad sat directly below Hank. She used to stare up at him lovingly, chattering away, each time we changed her diaper. I used to joke that Hank was her first crush.

A single guy is (hopefully) buying our house, and I'm sure that little floor scratch, that mark on the wall, those corbels, Jasmine's spot, and Hank will all be completely meaningless to him. That makes me sad. Fortunately, I have this little spot to write down those memories so I can bring them back later.

More fortunately, we get to start making new memories in a new house.