Home.

Well, we officially have moved and our house is no longer officially ours. It’s a bit of a sad experience. Going from what we have known as home, to this apartment, is not something we foresaw when we listed our house for sale. I am not going to lie, a lot of me is regretting that decision at this point in time.

We have been in the apartment for about 2 weeks now and I still have a hard time calling it home. Maybe part of me is just too disappointed that our path lead us here, that I am too bitter to use it.

Any place can be a dwelling, a place you live. The term home is more of a feeling, in my mind. It is a place where I feel safe and in control. Granted, having the familiar furniture and people certainly help make it feel like a home.

Simply put, it isn’t the ideal situation; having 3 pets, 2 adults, and 2 kids in a 900 square foot apartment (though not much smaller than our house was if you’re looking at square feet).

We are fortunate that we have a place to live in, even if it’s only temporary. I tell myself all the time, “things could be much worse”. That statement is so true.

We are doing okay here, adjusting to certain things we haven’t dealt with before as a family and not just a couple (like needing to put our dog on a bathroom schedule).

The kids have adjusted surprisingly well. I think Pickle is showing signs of wanting to live a nomadic life. For them, home is wherever we are together. Home is where their toys are. It is where they eat dinner at the family table. It’s where they take baths and wear pajamas. Home is where our dog and cats reside.

Home is many things.

I don’t know why I am having a difficult time calling this apartment “home”. Chris has told me a couple of times now, “it’s okay you can say home”. Maybe it’s because I am so hopeful that our home is out there waiting for us to find it (as if houses have feelings), that I just don’t want the attachment here. I don’t know.

As soon as we moved in, we felt even more compelled to find a house. Unfortunately, that is still an ongoing process that feels nearly impossible in this market. My worry is that we won’t find something in time for Pickle’s birthday and will have to rent a place out. My other bigger worry is not finding a place in time to register Pickle for kindergarten. He has already missed the deadlines for kindergarten roundup. We are hoping our application to opt-in to his current school will be approved. It’s hard when you don’t know where you will be.

At least for now we have a stable, safe place to live in. Even if the place itself doesn’t feel like home to me. Home can be anywhere so long as I have my husband, kids, and pets. I know in the grand scheme this will be something we look back on and say, “that was a necessary time to get us where we needed to be”. I bet the kids won’t even remember it. Heck, I wouldn’t be surprised if we don’t remember it either.

In the mean time we will keep house hunting and living life as normal as possible, remaining positive.

What does “home” mean to you?

Jenn