Once upon a time a happy young couple wanted to buy their first home, right in the middle of the real estate boom. These young lovebirds didn’t have kids, weren’t married, and were planning on, as her grandfather so lovingly referred to their union, living in sin.

They looked high and low but eventually found a small house that was “perfect” and “the one.”  Fast forward to rings, kids, a dog, and more toys and baby stuff that any one person can count, and the family is feeling claustrophobic and bursting at the seams. It is time to move out!

As Paula Abdul and Scat Cat so eloquently put it, opposites do attract and my husband and I are a perfect example.  I am a quick results girl, pull the trigger, leap then look. Hubby is the opposite. He likes to do lots of research, weigh all of the options and let things play out themselves.  To be honest, the balance we bring to each other has served us well. But enough is enough! I need OUT of this house. The toys have spilled into every room and I can’t cook, serve a meal, or lay my head on a pillow without being bombarded with a flashing truck or a baby doll. We need a bigger house and it needs to happen ASAP.  When we started the discussion (several years ago) about moving out, I was very uneasy about leaving our first home; however, I have hit my limit and I fear for the safety of the walls if we don’t pack it up and get the hell out of this house. In a fit, stepping on another freaking toy, I may go all Hulk on the house and start busting up the walls.

Moving has been a source of contention and stress for us for quite some time.  I have even started to get bitter and resent the sweet house that I used to love. Every day I find myself saying “I hate this stupid kitchen! Who are these cupboards designed for, the seven dwarfs?” and “Imagine how nice natural light would be in a bathroom.  My eyebrows would be amazing if I could actually see what I am doing when plucking rather than just grabbing at the hairs in the dark.”

This weekend I was at war with sorting through all of the new stuff from Christmas and finding what I could throw out. My Hulk anger towards the house reared its ugly heard again, but before I could turn green, I heard Hubby yell at Monkey. Looking for a way to calm my anger, I thought I would see what had his panties in a bunch. Turns out Monkey was shoving his sister’s magic wand down the air vent, and Hubby was laid out on the floor with his arm down the vent when he yelled, “Sweet Jesus, it’s Flo!”

Let me give you some background on Flo.  Monkey has been OBSESSED with all things related to Disney Cars since he first watched the movie in 2011. In a very short time, the kid accumulated everything with Mater or Lightning McQueen’s face on it.  For some reason this silly boy took a real shining to a small version of Flo.

For months we would find Flo hanging out in the back of his dump trucks, see her sliding down the slide on the playground, and a few times, she could be found snuggled in his bed at night. One day he asked me “Mommy, where is Flo?” I tore the house apart looking for Flo. Under beds, ripping through the garbage, even the bottom of the toy box.  No Flo. Every day for months and months he would just stop what he was doing or sit up in bed and ask me “Mommy, where is Flo?”  It broke my heart that I couldn’t tell him where that dam car was. Even worse, she is sort of an obscure character and she came in a set that was discontinued. I couldn’t even replace her.

Fast forward to a year later, my husband pulling Flo out of the air vent and me bursting into tears. Not just because we found Flo, but because we are on the verge of putting a For Sale sign in our front yard, and I just thought of someone else pulling Flo out of captivity and just throwing her away. They would have no idea how loved she was. It got me thinking how much this house has really meant to me. Hubby proposed to me in this house, we brought both kids home from the hospital to this home, we started out as two young kids living in sin and ended up a crazy family.

So to my house, I apologize for being so pissy with you; you have served us well. I promise to be kind to you in the last few months we have together and I hope to give you new owners that are starting on the same path we were seven years ago, or best offer.

And even though he was nervous in the beginning, my grandfather would agree that even if you are getting the milk for free, you will eventually by the cow. Wait, did I just refer to myself as a cow–gross