LiBrandiLife: February 2016

I know I've been out of commission for a few months now, and it's because my family moved. Yes, we picked up 15 years of our lives; all our stuff, all our memories and the heaviness of our hearts and moved across town to be closer to everything we do and every place we go. It was the right thing to do. It's saved me more hours than I can count in drive time, reduced costs and put us in the epicenter of World LiBrandi. You know what they say - location, location, location.

So if the move was the right thing for us, why are we all so sad?

We're sad because we had to say goodbye to more than our neighbors and our street and our routine. I had no idea how I would feel about leaving my home when we made the decision to move. And it's hard to put into words even now. This blog has been swimming in my head since December, and all I know; all I can articulate, is this:

I believe my house was alive. (stick with me). Not possessed. Not haunted. But infused with the love and hope and growing that my family created there in its rooms and its hallways.

When I brought each baby home to that house, to the room that was the nursery for each of them, I believe those walls hugged me when I was up at night, walking a sick baby or nursing a tired one back to sleep. And when I felt like I was so exhausted that I wanted to cry (and sometimes did), it was the peace and innocence of the nursery with its pastel walls and white bedding and comfy rocking chair that pushed me gently to go on.

I believe that my kitchen helped me prep for every birthday, every holiday and every get together with friends by giving good light to inspire me, enough space to let me dance around while I was prepping and by extending an open invitation to every person that came into my home. My kitchen was a great hostess.

I know that my family room (also known as my home office) was my biggest cheerleader. Sitting there, coffee mug on coffee table, laptop on lap, music playing on speakers, some of my best business ideas were born. I loved the hours when the kids were at school and I had the silence of just my house and me; brainstorming and writing. It's the room where my business was born and my time in that room helped me grow it. It's where this blog came into being so it's fitting that I'm writing this story.

Our basement was a partier. Sleepovers, xbox tournaments, hide and seek; you name it and that basement did it. And while she had a sense of fun, she wasn't too wild and was always respectful. She never broke anything or hurt anyone.

I know part of what makes this move hard is that the home I left is the home where all the big stuff happened. Births, first communions, milestone birthdays, first lost teeth, Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. And while I know we'll make new memories in our new house, they won't be the same. I won't have toddlers staring up at me with a smile and wide eyes in this house. I won't have little ones running down the stairs on Christmas morning in this house. I won't have kids begging to go outside in the snow and then coming back in five minutes later for hot chocolate. I left the house that turned me into a mother and cradled me as I made my family.

The other day Gabe said to me, "I miss our old house." And hoping that I could find out what he missed and recreate it here, I asked him what he missed. "Everything" was the answer. How do you recreate everything? The answer is that you don't. You create new things. And we are on our way to doing that. We are finding our way, building new routines and discovering daily what is wonderful about our new home. Because it is wonderful and we are lucky to live here.

I often remind myself that a house is a house and a home is the people that are in it. Our home will always be where we LiBrandis are, bound together by more than bricks and mortar for longer than any house will stand.

But I still miss my house. I know she misses me too. She has a new family now and I know she will treat them well. She will help them grow and be the family they are meant to be. She will coach and encourage, give them soft spaces and fun places. She will expand and contract with them so that my home will become theirs. And that is okay. It's okay because that's what love does. It leaves a little behind so that others can have it. My house loving its new family doesn't change the love she gave me. In fact, it makes it bigger. I like thinking of a new family there, enjoying her light, playing in the yard, making new memories. I like that my home is passed on for others to love it.

As we spent our last hours there in December, all our possessions already in our new home, we each retreated to our rooms and spent quiet moments there saying goodbye in our individual ways. There were lots of tears, but not from me. I wanted to cry. I wanted to unload the heaviness of seeing my home empty, but I didn't. As I stood and said my final farewell to my friend, I wanted my last look to be clear so I could see all that she gave me.