I tend to not be one of those sentimental women. I think “The Christmas Shoes” is a song about a con artist. I snorted when Renee Zellwegger told Tom Cruise he had her at hello. In the movie Deep Impact, I cheered for the tidal wave. I think you get the picture, which should illustrate to gravity of the following thoughts I’ve been having lately.
I sat in the mackerdoodle’s (mostly empty) bedroom tonight reading her a story and actually thought: “If these walls could talk!” Sure, this is the home in which we have lived the longest (at three years, that’s not such a stellar record) but that’s not what turned my thoughts to sophomoric prose. This is the home to which I have brought home both of my babies. Here I learned the delight of motherhood and spent a year as a stay-at-home mom. There is a whole different layer of memories in this house than in any of the eight others.
So this move is a little more sentimental to me than the others. It makes me think in clichés and while that may be a little out of character, it doesn’t make it any less true.