The squirrels are forcing me out.
I have been talking about moving for the last five years. I can’t afford my big house. I can’t give it the loving care it needs. I don’t really need all this space.
I’ve said it over and over, but the reality is now racing towards me. I can no longer pretend I have time. The squirrels have forced my hand.
This was my dream house. The house that my kids and I deserved after settling for a house that we would leave every two years. I wanted my kids to live in a neighborhood with sidewalks to ride bikes and scooters, a community pool to walk to, and lots of friends.
We lived the dream for four years, and then it shattered. Divorce happened. I lost my job, and the house became neglected due to lack of funds.
I’ve been preparing myself for the eventual move. I’ve moved so many times before. From the time I moved out of my parent’s home at 18 I’ve been a regular rolling stone. Fourteen different addresses. I’ve lived in my dream house the longest- twelve years.
Twelve Christmases and too many birthdays to count. Graduation parties, holiday and neighborhood celebrations, and one wedding dinner.
In six months, the youngest will head to college. The dream house needs the a lot of tender loving care to restore it to its beauty. It also needs the sounds of children’s laughter around the dinner table, and a basketball thumping against the garage door.
So- back to the squirrels. They have chewed not one, but two holes in my aging roof. They are not the sort of family I would have envisioned living here. Now, they are forcing my to face the truth. It’s time to go.
First, I will evict the critters, then I will call the real estate agent. It’s time to find a new dream house. Perhaps a cozy cottage with a small writing room just for me.