The house where my husband and I had our first Christmas.
Where we first brought our twins home to and then proceeded to take a year's worth of pictures in various shades of cheap paneling brown .
The house that I helped with its addiction to the 70s. I once imagined myself as a curator of a museum. A museum that was my house. I shall call it "The Museum of the 70s."
Well, my curator dreams have been destroyed and the orange carpet is no longer a part of my life. This old house left our lives today on a mission to provide other families with absolutely no desirable photography opportunity for their young families whatsoever.
The Danish Cowboy -- he didn't even shed a tear when it left. Unbelievable.
I bid you farewell, old house. Good luck in your new life. May the world be kind to you.
And sorry about that purple porch that seems to have left a scar on your side.
Happy trails, old friend.