The house sold, papers signed, repairs and updates done…

Ever since we put the house up for sale, it hasn’t felt like our home. I figured once the staging and photos were done, after the open houses, after the sterilizing process of getting a house ready to sell was over, the “home” feeling would return somewhat.

But it hasn’t. I’m sleeping in a stranger’s bed, sitting at someone else’s table, and cleaning another cook’s kitchen. It’s felt like we are borrowing a home from people who are a great deal like us, just not us. They have great taste. They’ve made some admirable design decisions. It’s just not ours. Instead of Airbnb, it’s Soon2bformer lodging.

Sometimes I catch myself wandering the house, looking for that proverbial comfy chair but I can’t find it anymore. I was complaining to the boys that there’s no place to sit in this house…

They pointedly looked at the dozen or so places I could plant myself — couch, chairs, stools, ottomans. Lots of options.

Too bad none are as comfortable as they used to be.

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