Going Home Again

Eric and I are in the process of selling our house (crossing my fingers I don’t jinx it with this blog post!) and we are moving in with my parents next weekend until we find a new house. They have a private apartment attached to their garage where I lived before I uninvitedly moved into Eric’s house, and I can’t wait to move back home.

I’m going back to my happy place.

Truth is, I was never really ready to move out of my parent’s house in the first place. I love that house, my favorite people live in it, and alcohol is always available. The only problem is that I instantly turn into a 5 year old and lose all use of my limbs when I am at their house.

“Mommy, I need watterrrrr and a grilled cheeseeeee. Cut it the mommy wayyyy*. Nowwwww, ughhhhhh.”

I was a super annoying 5 year old.

It’s going to be awesome for me, but I’m not sure it’s going to be awesome for my parents or my husband. It’s okay though because parents aren’t allowed to get sick of their own children, right? I’m almost positive that is a rule.

I mean, why wouldn’t I want to live under the same roof as my husband and my father who both are forced love to take care of me?

“Oh, you both love me, and want to take care of me all the time, and you want to change the oil in my car?”

I want that life. I really do.

Plus, I get to be with my mom who is the most sympathetic person in the world to her children. I could tell her anything and she would completely understand why it upset me, and then validate my crazy feelings in a matter of seconds.

Even if it’s insane.

Me: “Mom, I shrunk my sock in the dryer and now I’ll never have warm feet ever again. I have to live through the winter with no socks because those were my favorite socks and they don’t make socks anymore.”

Mom: “Oh, honey, you poor thing. I am so sorry, sweet baby. Mommy will take care of it.”

Okay, so maybe I should be a little worried about what these next few months will do to my relationship with my parents, my husband, and my maturity level, but I. just. don’t. care.

I’m going home 🙂


*A Mommy Cut cuts the sandwich diagonally into two triangles. The Daddy Cut is horizontal. I prefer the corners on the Mommy Cut.


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