Stairs

In psychology stairs can represent...

Reaching new heights emotionally, spiritually, physically, etc.
A higher understanding of learning
Regressing into your subconscious (if you're going down the stairs)
Spiral stairs could mean growth/rebirth

But to me they will always mean fun! I lived in a one-story house with a basement. Not just any kind of basement. We had a completely separate living area that we could mess up to our childish heart's content. And company wouldn't be the wiser. When I was little and my oldest sisters were already married (I was seven) my two older brothers occupied the two bedrooms and shared bathroom. I recall I've had every room in that house (except my parents' of course). When you've lived in the same house for 19 years, you tend to migrate from room to room as the house empties.

We also played a lot on the stairs. I remember playing with an old Hot Wheels set on the stairs, My Little Pony, and church with my dollies. (Yes, I couldn't get enough church apparently.) When I was four we took some family pictures on the stairs and when my parents were getting ready to leave the house that many of us called home we took the same picture on the stairs again. The stairs seemed so few then, all of us trying to pile in. But when I had to vacuum them, endless!

I have stairs in the home that I share with husband and the boy and lined along it are pictures of our parents and grandparents. Most have passed on now and so it's nice to imagine that they are watching over our little family.

If you're interested in analyzing more objects, check out Dream Moods. (It's where I got my information)

Nerdy Girls

Have you seen the movie Wreck-It Ralph? Well, if you haven't you have to. I've seen it about a bazillion times thanks to the boy. I don't know what Disney's deal is but every nerdy girl is a blond, blue-eyed, glasses-clad girl. Me.

I've had glasses since I was two. I couldn't see the fingers on my hand unless they were inches from my face. My parents tell me that I was legally blind. Since the tender age of 14 I have been wearing contact lenses.

Here are some comparison shots:

(Who doesn't love that late 80s hair?)

Do you recognize this little thing? She makes an appearance on Disney's A Goofy Movie when they arrive at a possum theme park. My sarcastic uncle lovingly compared me to her when I was in kindergarten after he saw the film. Nice.

Here's the girl from Wreck-It Ralph. As soon as I saw her, I thought, "Disney?! What the heck?!"

It isn't just me right?


~Lady Jane

"Oh, What Do You Do in the Summertime?"

It's been a few weeks since my last post and I must admit, it has been an adjustment with the boy since I stopped working. I decided to adopt a summer schedule, a routine we could have so that boredom and cabin fever wouldn't set in...as much.

I'm a bit of a cheapskate so I assumed that doing activities with the boy would be too expensive. Apparently, there are lots of free things or inexpensive ways to spend our time. I took the boy to the movie theater last Friday and was expecting to pay $4 (not expensive, just expecting to pay) for the summer promotional kids' price but was pleasantly surprised to get in for FREE! I couldn't have expected anything better; the first time I take the boy to try out a movie we got in for free so it didn't cost me anything to experiment. By the way, he loved it! I was his seat the whole time though, at least I wasn't cold.

When you live on the surface of the sun otherwise known as Phoenix, Arizona, there's very few outdoor activities to do, so a mom's gotta get creative. Pinterest strikes again!

I have a love/hate relationship with Pinterest. There are tons of great ideas but with that comes the anxiety of trying to carry them out.

So I've decided to take the boy to the library on Mondays, play in the water on Wednesdays, take him to the movies on Thursdays and drop in on friends on Tuesdays or Fridays. With all of these activities I still manage to get regular house maintenance done. Even though the boy is a lot like me, I think it's good for him to be home and play with his own toys.

What do you do in the summertime?

~Lady Jane

"Memries, like the corners of my mind..."

When I was a little girl, I read a story in my elementary school library about a woman who wanted to make the world a prettier place. I loved the book, but promptly forgot about it, except this idea about a woman who could simply walk by a field and flowers would blossom.

Growing up, my mother's parents would come to visit, for months at a time! They would park their motorhome outside my bedroom window. I would come home from school and see granny unclipping her dry laundry from the line she put up moments after her arrival. I would drop off my bag and hop over to the motorhome for Danish cookies. Do you know the ones?

I loved these. (I wish I knew where to buy these).

I remember my mom saying that her rose bushes seemed to grow faster or bloom bigger after granny walked by. And that thought has never left me, imprinted in my heart and memories. So whenever I think of her, I would remember that story of a woman who walked by a field and flowers would bloom.

For years, I have been trying to find the title of the story that has been so much a part of my childhood and I didn't even know what it was called.

The husband and I have been living in our new home for almost a year now and we're trying to figure out how to decorate our bedroom. He had this idea to find scientific drawings for his side of the bed whether it was of sea shells, coral, something. On my side a painting of the same subject and in the middle (above our bed) a photograph of said subject. He brought up lupin. Apparently, there were lupin fields where he grew up. The name alone didn't spring to mind a picture so I googled it.

And this book was among the search results. The cover looked familiar so I clicked on it, revealing a story that I remembered but had long forgotten.

This story that had been in the recesses of my inner memories once again sprang to the forefront. I lovingly attacked the husband with thank yous pouring from my mouth. I almost cried.

Hostess Without

I like parties. I love meeting and talking to people but there's a reason I still haven't held a housewarming party and we've been here for 9 months and 23 days. I crumble under the pressure of being responsible for other people's happiness. Maybe that's why the boy is so bored now that he can walk, talk and basically have other little toddler friends.

I found an old notebook where I planned a pretty cute 2nd birthday for the boy a year ago and to be honest, if someone else had been in charge of carrying out my vision, it would have been an adorable party. He was obsessed with Toy Story at the time and so I thought it would be fitting to have star-shaped cantaloupe, cool ranch and barbecue chips with the appropriate quote from the first film, Teddy Grahams and strawberry frosting for Lotso Huggin' Bear, and other themed food. Sounds cute right? I hope. We did half the stuff that I mentioned and we didn't even really decorate.

So for the boy's 3rd birthday, I kept it really low-key. I mean really low, like two octaves below middle C. We invited our dear friends and their sweet little girl and my parents for a barbecue. I even asked our guests not to bring the boy any more toys (he has plenty to play with and I'm starting to wonder where to store all of it in an orderly manner). I love that the boy was born in March, it is so beautiful in AZ. There was a lovely breeze that allowed us to open the windows and doors and breathe in the fresh spring air. I knew this was the last year I could pull this off, so I did the least amount of work possible.

I think the reason why I feel so pressured to do something amazing for the boy's birthdays is the recent invention of Pinterest. It's an amazing site for all things, house and pretty much life related, but I wonder how many people actually pull off the parties that have been planned by SAHM, not a professional.

And one more for good measure...

Stay tuned for my thoughts on personality types :)

~Lady Jane

Theme Song

Music speaks to me. It makes me reflect on my life and certain people in my life have their own song. Anytime it comes on the radio, my thoughts immediately flutter back to that simpler time.

I didn't have a boyfriend in high school but I did have a good friend who happened to be a boy. His parents were always so nice to me and constantly thanked me for being their son's friend. I couldn't help but feel good loved and welcomed. He didn't always make the best decisions, but he tried and that's what counted. He was one of the few people that helped me celebrate my 16th birthday. He came over at Thanksgiving and fit in like one of the family. He was my best friend. So every time I hear this song, I think fondly of him.

I will admit I loved those silly Facebook games of discovering the soundtrack to your life. I really liked it when the songs fit the category, I didn't like it so much when it didn't match up. Sometimes I wish that I had a soundtrack to smile and cry to.

Although, every time I hear this song, it reminds of a boy that I did date for a brief moment.

I wasn't exactly sure what it meant to him that I reminded him of this song, especially since a few weeks later, it fizzled out.

But the boy that stole my heart and made me a wife and mother has too many songs that remind me of him. But the one that makes my toes curl and my heart fly is this classic:

The first time that we ever danced to this song, was in front of my house. He was dropping me off from a date and this song came on the radio. He parked the car, but instead of turning off the car, he turned up the radio. He escorted me from the car and without light but the headlights, we held each other and swayed.

I had read about two characters who shared the same experience and thought that was the most romantic thing I'd ever read. I had never told the husband about this dream of mine. He just knew somehow and made it true for me. 

Music is powerful and seeded with memories.


What's your favorite song? The one that makes you happy every time you hear it?

~Lady Jane

Catharsis

Writing really is cathartic for me.  I find that I work through my problems so much better when I've written about them. It's the release that I need to move on to the next chapter. I'm gonna get pretty personal for this post, so if you'd rather read fluff, wait until next time.

I've recently suffered a loss. Two losses actually. My grandmother passed away. A wonderful, service-oriented, bubbly, caring, cheerful, lovely woman. She wrote music and played the piano masterfully. Every time I play one of her arrangements of music, I feel her near me (even before she passed away), her soul is in music. This is how I will always remember her: forever connected to the piano.

I had a miscarriage. The hubs and I were really looking forward to having another little bundle in our home to love and hold, but twas not to be. I don't think that we'll be a single-child family, but if that is to be the case. I have an awesome little man to be grateful for! I mean look at that face, who couldn't love that? 

When I first found out that we weren't going to be having another baby, it was terrible! I cried all the time at the drop of a hat and was mad at every pregnant woman I knew or didn't know for that matter. But after I went in for a procedure, it was like the last punctuation had been placed on the last page and I could turn it and move on.

So that is what I'm doing, moving on. Due to the recent events, I'm no longer working as a vocal coach. My boss felt that I should take this time to heal and we were nearly done with the season anyway. I thought that was very sympathetic of her. I am looking forward to real meal planning again and just being able to use my time the way I want to.

Until next time,

Lady Jane

Lesson Learned

One of the weirdest phrases I heard in my writing class was, "creative nonfiction." What does that even mean? I was at a loss for words. I had no idea how I supposed to get creative without being false or bending the truth. Had I been a reader of Real Simple magazine when taking the class, I would have known exactly what my professor meant. In each issue they have a section called "Life Lessons". I learn the strangest, saddest, and sometimes simple things when I read that section. This is creative nonfiction. These writers just seem to know how to paint a story without brushing over the truth.

So here goes, if I were to actually submit a piece for an essay contest about understanding the meaning of love it might go something like this:

My mother always used to say that I would never understand how much she loved me until I had a child of my own. There's no way that could be true. There were so many ways that my mother showed me love: supporting my talents by attending choir concerts, always being a listening ear, staying up with me to finish that forgotten term paper, always finding time to teach me valuable life lessons as she transitioned into grandmother-hood while I was still only eight. As I grew up with a matriarch overflowing with positive words and love, I never thought it would take me until I had my first child that I would truly understand. As I groggily woke up to feed my crying baby, carefully prepared his food, happily changed his diaper or enjoyed his coos and giggles I was reminded of all the loving attention given to me by my own mother as her youngest.

Due to medical complications, I didn't get to spend an entire week with my newborn and had to leave my son in the care of my mother. She was much older now, and physically less prepared to repeat the routine of a newborn baby. I ached to be out of my hospital bed and be home with my husband and son, but I knew that my son was more than competently cared for, perhaps even more so than by a brand new mommy like me. I knew that my son would be loved and given the attention that I would have given him myself.

My mom with my son

When I was finally discharged from the hospital, I still couldn't hold my son and walk at the same time thus the nighttime responsibilities again fell to my mother. It was after I had regained strength in my leg that I profusely thanked my mom for caring for my boy. She gushed about how much she loved being up with him in the middle of the night and not being sore or too tired (like having her own seven children felt). What I imagine she was trying to say, "You won't understand how much I love you until you have a child of your own." I wouldn't have done any different had it been my grown son and his family in need of service and I an older woman in her latter years. She managed to show me how much she could love her grandson and through this selfless act, I know what unconditional love truly is.

So mom, if you happen to read this I love you for all that you have ever done and still do for me!

~Lady Jane

Goldberg Nugget #6

Give me your morning

23 May 2012

I drifted in and out of consciousness as I heard the syncopation of the rain emanating from my iPod dock, awake just long enough to reach the snooze button for another glorious nine minutes of "sleep". As I tried to hold on to slumber, it slipped further and further away as I heard my husband cross the floor from the bathroom to his closet, turning the fan on a faster setting as he passed. "Drying off," I thought. I guess the rain was a little of the shower head too. I pulled the pillow sham from between my legs and propped myself against it as I checked on the boy from the video monitor. My drowsy hand searched for my glasses on the nightstand and discovered them exactly where I had left them the night before.

Even though the boy was mostly awake singing to himself, I figured I would have time to relieve myself and dress for the day. I softly closed my bedroom door behind me so as not to make a sound in the hope that I could take care of preparing the morning bottle. I trudged into the kitchen, flipping on the middle switch from the hallway. The light from the refrigerator brightened the kitchen by another 40 watts. I plucked the 8 ounce bottle from the shelf on the door, the gallon jug and proceeded to the microwave. Falling like a silk scarf, the white liquid gathered itself to the highest tick mark on the side of the bottle. I watched the bottle dance by itself as it heated in the microwave (or as I affectionately refer, a godsend). One last check on the boy on the monitor as I walk down the hall. I listen to the knob screech in excitement, echoing the happy shrills from my little man.

(6-7 months old)

On the Brain

I think my brain is empty. I've had so many things on my mind lately that I don't even know what to post at the moment. BAM! It just hit me. I could talk about my upcoming tea party I'm planning for my 28th birthday with my two cousins and their cousin from their mom's side and my good friend Danny.

Why tea party? Because they're fun. I'm hoping to recreate as much as I can remember about my 8th birthday tea party. I know that we wore Sunday dresses, costume jewelry, hats and faux fur shawls. And we felt like princesses. At least I did. My other aunt was generous enough to send down her collection of hats, jewelry and faux furs that I'm hoping she might let me borrow what she has left.

I am beyond looking forward to this! A couple of years ago, I had mentioned this idea to the original party guests and they all said they were excited to do it again for my 28th. I was worried when one of my cousins moved out of the country, but was immediately relieved when I found out she was coming for a visit. Who cares if it's not on my actual birthday, I'm just glad the original group (plus Danny) will all be here to join in on the fun. So stayed tuned for some fabulous how-tos from me about pulling off a smashing tea party!

Also on the horizon: I love to sing, so I'm going to work on my craft this summer by joining a choir. I'm stoked!

What do you have planned for the summer?

~ Lady Jane

My Son

As Mother's Day approaches I reflect on the little miracle that made me a mom. I love my little boy and I thank Heaven that he came to me! Ever since he was born I felt like I was taking on a huge challenge to raise one amazing little man. Having received my Bachelors degree in teaching before F was born, I thought of all the wonderful things I could teach him as he grew. Little did I know, he has taught me more than I ever thought possible.

Minutes old

Days old

Month old

Six months old

He has taught me to love. I love him beyond description. When I found out that I was pregnant, people asked me "If you could choose the gender, what would you have?" Every time I replied, "Boy!" I don't know why even but as soon as we found out that little F was going to join our family, I felt blessed. I was going to raise a son of God and teach him how to be a good man like his daddy.

He has taught me to reflect. Because of him, I have appreciated the sound of a bird chirping and leaves blowing in the wind and the rain. All these things are new to this little person and he is helping me remember these simple pleasures.

He has taught me to be patient. There are those days, that every parent has, where fuses are short but they lengthen over time because my son reminds me what is really important. So what if we're a little late for an appointment somewhere because he wanted to learn how to climb into his car seat? So what if we don't make it to the grocery store today if we get to nurture our relationship by playing cars? 

He has taught me to be consistent. Children, especially mine like structure and consistency, once we created a bedtime routine, within days he was reminding us what came next. I have learned that when I give him a heads up on what's coming next, he transitions to the next activity (or naptime) almost seamlessly. 

One Year!

Eighteen months

Two years!

I am grateful beyond words (but I'll try to find them) that I have been with my little man for two years! Four weeks after his birth I got a blood clot in my leg. I didn't realize how life threatening a blood clot was at the time. I just kept thinking about how much I missed my sweet husband and my precious newborn. I wanted to get out of that hospital bed and go home to be with my family. I couldn't even feel like I was with him by sending home breast milk. I was on a cocktail of different medications and painkillers throughout my stay at the hospital that I couldn't even pump. That alone was disheartening. After my thrombectomy (blood clot removal) procedure I recuperated at my parents' house. I couldn't walk without the assistance of a walker, so midnight feedings were taken over by the hubs or my mother. I have been a mother two years now and plan on being one forever! I have enjoyed it too much.

And most importantly, I owe my life to my mother! Even after having the perfect Brady Bunch family, she didn't feel like her family was complete until I came along (that sounds really egocentric). What I'm trying to say is, "Thanks mom, for wanting me!"

June 2007

I hope you mothers out there enjoy your day!

~ Lady Jane

Complexity is My Middle Name

I decided it was about time to get back to my original purpose for this blog and considering all of the events going on in my life that I cannot change, becoming a better writer is one thing I have control over.

"Where do you come from, who are you, what makes you?" One of the best questions posed by Goldberg to help the budding writer within.

The most obvious answer would be to expound upon my upbringing (which I have done a lot of) mention the skills/talents I have and hobbies I enjoy. BORING! So I will try and make it a little less boring.

I come from seekers and believers:

Not too long ago, I filled out a Mormon.org profile and one of the questions I answered was why I was Mormon. I think it's because my family is. It's in my blood. My 3x great grandfather was the first to become a Mormon, he sought after truth and believed. I owe him immensely for the knowledge I have because he looked for answers to his questions.

I come from music:

My grandmother is an amazing pianist! She lived next to me for nineteen years and when I say next to me I mean next to. I could get to her house through our garage. So I would often drop by and listen to her play the piano. Two of my older sisters also played the piano; music filled our house often and sometimes to the dismay of anyone in the house wanting to watch t.v.

I come from laughter:

My dad has the wackiest sense of humor, which I luckily possess a little bit of. He claims it was his mother's father that passed it down to him. I love to hear the laughter of my family and I get to hear it a lot.

I am Cowardice/Heroism/Peace/Contention/Love/Self-Loathing:

I am a complex woman. I am sometimes too afraid to confront a problem and other times, a raging bull out of the gate. I just wish I knew how to be bull when I'm a lamb. And with that cowardice and heroism, I am a blend of peace and contention. I don't like contention, avoid it at all costs and when I should be a peacemaker, I'm too afraid to mediate. I am freely giving of compliments, but not to myself, afraid of becoming narcissistic or egocentric. I'm also noticing a pattern here. Do you see it? I think my cowardly side trumps my heroic side by a long shot!

So, "where do you come from, who are you, what makes you?"

~ Lady Jane

And I Thought I Was Losing Brain Cells Before

A couple of months ago, I mentioned in my family blog that I felt like I had nothing to do, that I was losing my brain cells from being a SAHM. I couldn't have been more wrong! I have so much on my calendar that I'm a living episode of "Hoarders: Buried Alive!" I don't even have time to expedite a book club that my sister and I started at the beginning of the year. I don't think it helped any that our members were less than enthusiastic about reading different kinds of literature. (Ex. one doesn't want to read series [there goes Hunger Games and Harry Potter], another doesn't want to read books she had to read in high school [so long classics and thought-provoking works], another is so defensive that anything religious is inflammatory. Makes for interesting group of contributors and books to choose from doesn't it? I'm afraid I'll be calling my sister and telling her we're gonna have to wait until after May to start up again. Yeah, procrastinators!!!

And it's only going to get worse in the next few weeks. I mentioned in my last post, the dance rehearsals for the Centennial, but when I have the next four Saturdays accounted for it makes me wish I never said I liked having a busy schedule. I wish I was ten again. Where Saturday afternoons were perfect to catch movies from the 80s and the films no one bothered to buy. I am the youngest of seven so by the time I was ten, two sisters were married with a kid each, and one was living away from home and the other three were teenagers.

Back to the present: I'm so nervous that I'm going to forget something so important that I'm constantly turning on my smartphone, pulling up the calendar just to make sure I don't skip over any minute detail. Has that ever happened to you? When your life is so scheduled down to the minute that you just wish you could take a 100 years nap like Rip VanWinkle? Although, that brings up an interesting observation. I would miss out on all the events that got me to the final destination.

Have you ever seen "Click" an Adam Sandler movie that came out in 2006?

I really appreciated the moral of the story; as much as we would like to fast forward all the mundane parts of our lives, we miss out on the journey. A wise man counseled me before I got married to the hubs, "Live in the now, because you'll miss out on the present if you're constantly thinking about what the future holds." I have really tried to put that counsel into my life especially as a mother. Little F will grow up all too soon, so I try to cherish every stage he reaches instead of constantly dwelling on the times when he'll be more independent and less reliant on me.

Song for a Fifth Child, by Ruth Hamilton, 1958

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth
empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
hang out the washing and butter the bread,
sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I’ve grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).
The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
and out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
but I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren’t her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
for children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.

My eyes are welling with tears just thinking about my little man that recently turned two! I think most mothers would agree that their child/children are the best. I have a good'un! He's incredibly thoughtful and polite. His smile takes over his whole face, his eyes squish to near non-existence, his teeth shine brightly from his half-moon mouth.

Did I do him justice? As much as I like to pride myself on being a good writer, I always worry that my point won't convey to the reader. The picture above satisfies the visual learner in me.

And I just realized that my writing blog is becoming less and less about writing and/or becoming a good writer as my personal life creeps in more and more. Who knows, I may just combine my two passions: writing and becoming a better wife and mother into this nifty little blog.

Until then,

just keep writing, just keep writing.

Walk to School

I decided to reflect a little more on what Goldberg meant by composting and I thought of a place that I know very well, still to this day. Even though it's been almost a decade since I've been to said place, I walked this stretch of road five days a week for a total of eight years! This stretch of road lead from my home to my elementary school. I remember walking down my driveway over the two speed bumps (installed because of my aunt's worrisome nature) and up to the main street of my little county island neighborhood. I would veer left heading towards what seemed another long driveway, towards my school. Once I passed under the steel-fence frame's opening I was greeted by a huge expanse of grass separated by a berm. I even still remember thinking about how funny the word "berm" was the more and more I said it. Berm, berm, berm...it's just funny.

I would get to school about fifteen to twenty minutes before the first bell. I dropped off my backpack at my classroom's spot on the edge of the basketball court and immediately ran off to play or gossip as the morning sun slowly brightened in the east.

I loved walking to school in the winter time, fascinated I could see my breath and absolutely convinced that it had snowed when in fact it was frost.

I had wonderful teachers at my elementary, still remember them all. Even the music, art, and P.E. teachers. They all had a profound effect on me as I grew up.

Kindergarten: Mrs. Alvin Music: Mrs. Cluff

1st Grade: Miss Brinkerhoff Art: Mrs. Taylor

2nd Grade: Mrs. Painter P.E.: Mr. Mullins

3rd Grade: Mrs. Walton Principal: Mr. Salisbury

4th Grade: Mrs. Peterson Office Ladies: Carol, Debbie

5th Grade: Mrs. Johnson Playground duty: Shirley

6th Grade: Mrs. Henkel Groundskeeper: Jay

I participated in talent shows, and assemblies. I embarrassed myself on more than one occasion. I learned that pulling the seat out from under a kid and trying to push it back in quickly warrants a note home and disappointment from your teacher as well as the truth that it always looks better in the movies.

Since I walked to school, I would sometimes go home for lunch. This kind of thing was only permitted if I told the playground duty where I was going before I left and when I came back. By the time I was in sixth grade they said I could just call the front office. I had such freedom and I felt like I was treated like any adult that worked at the school because I was trustworthy.

After I graduated from high school I worked at my elementary school for my childhood principal and with a few teachers that were still there when I was a student. I loved working with the kids and teachers which all helped me to discover that I wanted a career in teaching.

There are some good things that come from never being the "new kid". My family was established and by the time I was moving on from elementary school I had saved my family name that had been tarnished by a couple of older brothers (one mostly).

When I Think of Home...

Due to my incomparable upbringing, I have always had an active imagination. I grew up in the same house for nineteen years, I had freedom to roam our expansive three and a quarter acre lot with trees, grass, our cats and friends. Many nights were spent gazing up at the stars on the trampoline. Running, climbing, and eating filled my days. My paternal grandfather, who I call Papa, planted fruit trees in the backyard. For seven years at least, my cousins and I enjoyed picking the ripe plums, apricots, and pears. Our saliva, sufficient enough to clean them allowed us to move onto our next adventure.

Even when I was a little girl, I dreamed of bringing my children to the home I grew up in to play on the swing set in the backyard, to show them that with enough sweat they could climb the walls with their feet, slide down the stairs on an old mattress or fall asleep on the living room couch as the din of family chatter in the kitchen wafted through the house.

My dream came to an end in 2006. I had no children yet and my parents were being forced out to rebuild a dying company that my father had put his life into. No longer can I bring my children to that home to see their Gigi and Papa and play with cousins uninterrupted in the basement, play a round of 9-hole golf around the house or come over for Sunday dinners.

I hate it when people say, "Let it go" or "It was a long time ago", that doesn't make me feel any better. It doesn't make feel any better to believe that my parents are giving another family the opportunity to make memories in that house too. As childish as this sounds, it was my house first!

The song, "Our House" by Madness, perfectly illustrates the kind of home I had. Needless to say it has become our anthem for my family. We even used it on a video montage for a family reunion.

Father wears his Sunday best

Mother's tired she needs a rest

The kids are playing up downstairs

Sister's sighing in her sleep

Brother's got a date to keep

He can't hang around

Our house, in the middle of our street

Our house, in the middle or our...

Our house it has a crowd

There's always something happening

And it's usually quite loud

Our mum she's so house-proud

Nothing ever slows her down

And a mess is not allowed

Our house, in the middle of our street

Our house, in the middle or our...

Our house, in the middle of our street

Our house, in the middle or our...

Something tells you that you've got to get away from it

Father gets up late for work

Mother has to iron his shirt

Then she sends the kids to school

Sees them off with a small kiss

She's the one they're going to miss

In lots of ways

Our house, in the middle of our street

Our house, in the middle or our...

I remember way back then when everything was true and when

We would have a very good time such a fine time

Such a happy time

And I remember how we'd play simply wasted the day away

Then we'd say nothing would come between us two dreamers

Father wears his Sunday best

Mother's tired she needs a rest

The kids are playing up downstairs

Sister's sighing in her sleep

Brother's got a date to keep

He can't hang around

Our house, in the middle of our street

Our house, in the middle or our street

Our house, in the middle of our street

Our house, in the middle or our...

Our house, was our castle and our keep

Our house, in the middle of our street

Our house, that was where we used to sleep

Our house, in the middle of our street

Our house, in the middle of our street

I loved my house, still do to this day. I've even thought of knocking on the door just to ask if I could look around. I wonder what stories my house would tell me since my family's been gone? Don't you wish if you just pressed your ear up against the walls hard enough you could hear everything the house has been through?