No matter how much I hated a place, I always feel sad when it’s time to move on and say goodbye.
Up until now, I never understood why.
As my sons and I pack our things, I look around at all the boxes that are stacked in the dining room, our living room, the kitchen and our bedrooms.
My teenaged sons are ready to go. They didn’t love Baltimore because they couldn’t roam as freely as they are allowed to in Northern Virginia. I allowed my own fears to force them to stay inside or very close to the house.
That lifestyle wasn’t normal for any of us but it kept them safe.
My three younger sons seem indifferent to the boxes piling up all around the house and they definitely don’t seem to have any clue as to what is going on.
My two year old twins are more concerned with playing between the boxes and finding things to run off to their room with that they know they probably shouldn’t have.
It seems it is only me that is feeling a bit sad about once again looking at our entire lives packed away in boxes.
