The House That Built Me

I have lived in exactly seven residences in my 26 years.  Seven sounds like a lot when I say it out loud, but my family has never moved around much.  Those seven houses have all been in only three cities.

I was born at 10611 Sagemeadow, Houston, TX 77089.  I remember this because of the many times I had to practice saying my address and phone number so that I could earn a prize in kindergarten.  The Sagemeadow house was home for almost ten years.  For being as young as I was when we lived there, I have quite a few memories of childhood days spent in the hot Houston sun.  I remember dragging my cat, Tiger, around by her back feet, playing "school" with  my brother in my cardboard playhouse, and creating secret "clubs" with my best friend, Carolyn.  I remember swimming in the hot tub with my cousins (until we had to fill it in because one of Tiger's kittens drowned in it, and my mom got scared that Tim or I might do the same).  Best of all, I remember Granddad's house with the giant, custom treehouse and Sunday-after-church-lasagnas being less than a mile away.  

Just before fourth grade, my dad accepted a job with Microsoft, which moved our family to Flower Mound, Texas (1408 Ivywood, to be exact).  I don't recall as much about this house as I do about the Sagemeadow one.  I do remember sitting in the top of our backyard fort (not as cool as the treehouse) with my also-new-to-Flower Mound-friend, Jenna, as we braved the awkward years of middle school together.  In this house, Tim and I got our first and only dog, Nikki.  Rest her soul.

When I came to college at the University of Oklahoma, I, like most freshmen, moved into the dorms.  Jenna and I made the mistake of choosing to live in the Honors Dorms, thinking that they would be more quiet than "the towers."  By "more quiet," I mean that they actually were completely silent about 95% of the time.  No one ever came out of their rooms.  Thank goodness I lived with one of my best friends, because I met approximately 3 people on my entire floor that year.  I became an honorary roommate to my other friends, Kate and Katherine, who lived in Adams Tower and knew everyone on their hall.

After my freshman year at OU, I moved into an on-campus apartment, Traditions Square, with my friends, Kate, Ellen, and Amanda.  In fifty years, I'll probably still look back on those two years at 2500 Asp Avenue as two of the best in my life.  There were times when the four of us studied, of course, but mostly I remember having weekly dinner parties, carving pumpkins, dressing up for date parties, watching America's Next Top Model together, and having random dance parties in the middle of the night.  

When Andrew and I got married after my junior year, we moved into the bottom of a janky quadruplex, 316 Falcon Court #1, because it cost $520/month and had two bedrooms and a laundry room inside.  There were, however, some things we unfortunately did not take into consideration before moving in, namely the fact that our backyard was Norman North High School.  We often woke up at 3 a.m. to the sound of monster trucks doing donuts in the parking lot, and there was no hope of sleeping late during the summer because the marching band began practice every weekday at promptly 6:45 a.m.  I once told someone where we used to live, and her first response was, "Oh my gosh, there are drugs all over that street!"  So there was that, too.  In addition to the less-than-ideal location of this rental property, the walls and floors of our apartment were uncomfortably thin.  Every time our upstairs neighbor used the bathroom (or did anything else), we knew about it.  All in all, we were comfortable in that little home.  But we were also young and stupid.  Anyway, I should be grateful.

Four years ago, Andrew and I moved into our current house in Norman.  Though we have some interesting neighbors, including the king and queen of holiday inflatables, as well as the people who dug up their entire front yard to plant a garden (complete with CDs hanging in the trees to keep the birds away), we have loved almost everything about this home.  The previous owners completely remodeled the inside just before selling the house to us, and we have a huge backyard, which is great for grill parties and s'mores around the firepit.  I'll always remember this home because it's the first one we bought together and because our sweet Piper was born here.

I saved the seventh home for last, even though it's not where I most recently lived.  Just before my freshman year of high school, my parents bought a newer and bigger house in Flower Mound at 1717 Bershire Court.  I technically only lived in this house for four years before leaving for college, but it has been "home" for much longer than that.  It is "the house that built me," and it is for sale.

Aside from the Houston house, I probably have the most memories in the Bershire house.  I remember taking pictures for homecoming and prom in the front yard, sitting in the driveway at night with my friend, Amanda, having sleepovers with my friend around the corner, Brooke, practicing piano in the foyer, shutting myself in my room and staring at the clouds I painted on my ceiling, and having friends over for study parties and FCA because everyone knew that my mom always made the best food.  I grew into myself in that house.  Even after I left when I graduated, I still continued celebrating all of our family's big life events at "home," because I'd rather be sitting on a barstool in my parents' kitchen late at night than mostly anywhere else.  And hey, everyone still knows that my mom makes the best food.

My parents have found their "dream home," which is about 30 minutes closer to us than their Flower Mound house.  It backs up to a horse farm and has tons of space inside and tons of land outside for those tons of grandkids they're hoping to have one day.  (Sorry to disappoint, Mom, but unless Tim gets busy soon, I'm thinking that "tons" will look more like "two" on our end.)  I'm excited for them but also somewhat sad about saying goodbye to the house on Bershire Court.  Thankfully, memories are even easier to pack up and take with you than the utensils in your kitchen.  And, life is less about where you live than who you're living it with anyway.