Three years ago my sister and brother-in-law decided to rent a big farmhouse on the outskirts of town. After building and selling a handful of beautiful new construction houses, they didn’t anticipate falling in love with a dated farmhouse amidst corn and cows, but they did. Months later when they took a job in Bakersfield, CA we sat around the table of their farmhouse, sad to see it go. My mom wondered out loud, “What if Dad and I move into this house?”
It wouldn’t be the first time. For some weird (maybe somehow dysfunctional but I’m going with ‘weird’) reason it’s not the first time we’ve shared and rotated houses. Yes, we move embarrassingly often. Yes, we somehow make it a party every time. Our moving boxes see many moves before they go to the burn pile.
Just throwing myself out there a bit...