I used to work at the public library, in the children's department. And I remember there was a book where a little girl's older sister was getting married. They went together with their mom to buy a dress, and she tried on a lot of dresses, and none of them looked right. The little girl was happy about this because she didn't want the sister to get married. Then the older sister came out in a certain dress and the little girl said something along the lines of, "She didn't look silly anymore. She looked like a bride."
When my sister was shopping for a wedding dress, I was there for the second half of the search. She had already gone to one place with my mom and found a dress she really liked, but I hadn't seen it yet. So when I joined the dress search, in every dress she tried on, she just looked my sister in a pretty white dress. Then we went back to the first place she had been and she tried on the dress again. And I had a moment like that little girl. She wasn't my little sister anymore. She was a bride. It took some getting used to.
I came back to my parents' house today and had a similar feeling. I don't live there anymore. It's not my house anymore. It's my parents'. I"m still getting used to the idea. I've only been moved out for two days, but I already feel like an interloper when I come home.
Strange isn't it?
3 comments:
I feel the same way. It's hard not calling my parents house "my house". It will definitely take some getting used to, but luckily we get to do it together.
I understand this feeling. But here's irony for you: my parents' house, until I'm married, is always the first place I think of when I think of "home" . . .
Where I live is my house. Where I grew up--that's my home. Is that weird?
Annie: Yes it is lucky we get to do it together!
Katie: I don't think that's weird. That's probably how I will be too.
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