My Second Home!

When I was five our family moved from my first home. My mom and dad wanted to build a home in a neighboring town. Because it would take some time to build the home, we lived in a little house that had actually been abandoned, or at least it wasn’t lived in at the time we moved in.

It was empty and a bit run down.

The yard was overgrown, and the paint on the house was peeling and worn out.

 It had one bedroom, a family room, a kitchen, one bathroom, and a little room behind the kitchen where my mom’s washer and dryer were.

My dad got to work. He mowed the yard, it sort of worked for grass. He painted the wood.

The house looked like a cute little home by the time he was done, and we moved in, all 7 of us. We were very cozy to say the least. In the one bedroom, my three older brothers slept in a big bed. I slept on an old army cot, or at least that’s what my dad referred to it as. And my baby brother slept in his crib. My mom and dad slept in the family room on a hide-a-bed couch.

My dad spent most of his time working full time, working on his Phd, and building the new home. He built it mostly by himself. My mom was a wonderful homemaker. We lived there for a year or so and then we moved to the new home. It is amazing to me how I have so many memories of that house and living there, and I was only there for such a short time.

It was a good home. I loved living there.

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