"I WANT TO MOVE," I told my mom one day, as I was playing on the driveway.
I was in second grade. Christine had changed schools, but that was okay. I had other people to talk to and a teacher that made you feel like you were learning rather than being in a classroom. I had Leigh, my new school bus friend, to spend long bus rides with. I also had a new baby sister, Emily. Emily was generally a happy baby who loved to smile and giggle and watch Teletubbies till our ears and eyes bled.
Life was good, but it was about to turn upside down.
"Why?" Mom said, responding to my statement. "We wouldn't see Katie and William anymore. You wouldn't see Chase anymore." She sounded disappointed. Realizing I said something silly, I put the thought from my mind.
To tell you the truth, I was more interested in the prospect of riding in the back of a moving van. We'd all do it together, sitting in the back of a huge, cool truck on its way to our new house. Sounded fun!
But maybe the idea wasn't so silly after all. The house was going to get smaller. A real estate sign appeared in our front yard one day, and we found ourselves looking for houses. One of them smelled like burned plastic but had cool gymnastics equipment in the basement. Another one was in a classmate's neighborhood and had a cool view, which my parents didn't like because there was too much traffic behind it. Yet another had a small white rug in the bathroom that was fun to rub my feet against.
Everyone was about to make some moves. Life would change as my young mind knew it!
***
Meanwhile, at Grandma and Grandpa's house, we were the bosses.
If I had one word to describe their house, it would be "ugly-charming." Grandma with a touch of gloom, if you will. That's probably because it was dark. It was a strange house, but I can't point my finger as to why.
They lived in a Dutch colonial that didn't have a ton of natural light, and the darkly painted walls didn't help. Although we spent cozy times there, it was hard for me to imagine it belonging to anyone other than grandparents.
We'd always enter by knocking on the side door that led to a large laundry room. We'd greet each other before stepping into the kitchen and then the living room. The small-ish living room had wooden beams on the ceiling, a wall-to-wall brick fireplace on the end, and a sliding door leading to the side porch. We sat on old-fashioned blue and white plaid couches---Grandma's colors. It was just enough to sit seven comfortably.
The best place to be? The screened-in porch. It was a great place to sit, especially on the glider, talking or playing with Grandma's decorative robin eggs. We spent much of our time there. The three of us girls--- Kelly, Emily, and Iâall had a big, bright pink ball to play with in the backyard as well. In the spring, deep pink cherry trees blossomed by the side entrance and we'd peel petals down and toss them around like we were flower girls in a wedding. Next door, there was a lazy-L pool. I loved playing in my grandparents' backyard, but I would look at that pool with envy. I wanted one, too.
We also played moon monsters there, on the big oak tree in the center of the yard. There was a blue baby swing that we squeezed into for as long as we could hanging from a branch. Grandma would do the countdown while pulling the swing back, and on "Blast off!" she'd let go and started pushing me.
Eventually the swing would come to a stop, where we'd get off and explore the "moon." Grandpa would sometimes pretend to be a moon monster and chase me back to the swing. Kelly got scared of the moon monsters, though, and this game eventually ended. I was already too big for the swing.
Most of our interactions were inside, though.
Grandma had what I thought was a funny way of mispronouncing words. "Scissors" was pronounced as "skissors" and "tissues" was said like "teese-ewes." I would try to correct Grandma, giggling. The conversation might go something like this:
Grandma: Where are my skissors?.
M: It's not skissors. It's scissors!
Grandma: Skissors?
Me: No, scissors!
Grandma: Are you sure?
Me: Yes. Scissors.
Grandma: Well, okay!
I always thought I'd correct her, but next time the word came up, she'd pronounce it differently again. In later years she replaced "tees-ewes" with "Kleenex." She always did love her Kleenex. Whenever we left the Peppercorn Bend house, she would give us individual Kleenex packs to take with us, in addition to whatever we picked from the candy drawer. If it was a family gathering, we'd all gather in the laundry room for a group hug. As we pulled out, Grandma would walk down the driveway and pretend to follow us home.
Peppercorn Bend was a house built on traditions like these.
When I came to visit by myself, we'd do special things too. The hardwood hall was perfect for ice skating, or sliding gently across the hardwood. Grandma would narrate, as if we were on TV, doing things like a triple axle and made-up tricks as well. When we'd reach the stairs (or living room, if we had been going down), Grandma would announce, "...And the crowd goes wild!" We'd applaud ourselves.
Meanwhile, Grandpa and I had a special game of water play. We'd fill the bathroom sink with wind-up water toys, usually animals, and have them swim around.
I also loved the box full of knockoff Barbies, which we'd use to play that oh-so-popular childhood game: spelling bee. Yes, spelling bee. The dolls would be sitting in class and took turns spelling words. My favorite of these dolls was a shorter doll with frizzy red hair that I named Francis.
Grandma and I also enjoyed doing Creativity for Kids kits bought at the Learning Express toy store, from paper bag puppets to soap making---especially soap making. We had a little song and dance we'd do as the mixture was heating in the microwave. Grabbing hands, we'd sing, "We are making so-oap! We are making so-oap!" And so on until it was ready to be taken out and stirred.
Also popular were the tea parties in my sunny bedroom. It was the brightest room in the house, and the blue carpet helped. (Compare it to a salmon master bedroom, a navy blue-almost- black guest bedroom, and dark blue hallways.) We'd get out the Play-Doh and Grandma would form it into shapes, such as a birthday cake and yellow tea cakes with cherries on top. We'd cut them all up and pretend to eat them. The teddy bears were always invited.
The bed had a white comforter with blue designs. It also came with the quintessential Grandma scent of Dove soap and Downy fabric softener. There was a little white round table where we could sit and have tea parties with the stuffed bear collection, and there were other secret treasures in the closet too. There was my dad's old little box of colorful rubbery figurines, for example. I had no idea what creatures they were, but I did know that I loved the feel of them, their rubber squishiness making my hands happy.
That house was also where I had my first sleepover. I remember the evening: sitting in the family room of my own house waiting to be picked up, while looking back at mom and Kelly, who was crying, from the front door as we drove away.
It usually started out when they came to pick me up, and we'd go to dinner near their house. Sometimes this was McDonald's or Wendy's. We'd sit inside, making placemats from napkins, and have a fancy fast-food dinner. If it was the summer, we might take a pit stop for mini-golfing. Then we'd get dessert, usually ice cream, before going back to their house for games. Sorry, UNO, Gobblet, Scrabble, and Blokus eventually became favorites, but Go Fish and Old Maid were the go-to games in the early days.
Then it was time for some TV, usually including Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune. Later on, we'd watch The Amazing Race, or The Greatest Race as they always called it. It was fun comparing opinions on contestants and challenges, which we almost always agreed on.
Then it was bath or shower time before getting into bed and a fairy tale bedtime story---at Peppercorn Bend, I had my own bedroom, the sunniest room in the house with its yellow paint. Grandma had a book basket, which held such classics as If You Give a Pig a Pancake, Nina Nina Star Ballerina, Arthur's Halloween, a rhyme story called Peanut Butter and Jelly, and some Berenstain Bears books. But the best was Just Grandma and Me, a Little Critter book. As she read, Grandma would read the story as if it were the two of us on their beach adventure.
The following day brought a pack of mini cereal boxes, which eventually turned into a cafe setup where Grandma and I made everyone's breakfast and served it to Grandpa, who tipped me. Then we'd go on an adventure. In the earlier years, it would be something like going to the elementary school playground. In later years, it would be shopping at the Gap or going to the bookstore, or bowling with Grandpa.
These sleepovers were one of many routines we would build over time, but it all originated here, in the ugly-charming house.
***
So my world came crashing down when they too announced they were thinking of moving.
I was in the middle of second grade, and all the memories we associated with that house, and our family, would change. I remember helping my parents visit a 55+ neighborhood, and it was... fine. It just wasn't their house. It was a place where random old people lived. Would it ever feel like home? We had so many fun times on Peppercorn Bend, and now it would go to somebody else.
Life in general would be much different. We were also about to move from Dunst Drive to a bigger house on the other side of town on Oak Road. We really wouldn't see our neighbors anymore. I wouldn't see Katie or Chase the dog, just like Mom said. It just wouldn't be the same.
And so far, the process had been boring. I had accompanied my dad to reserve a moving van with my electronic Yahtzee game in tow for a long afternoon of consultations and paperwork. Also, bad news about the truck: they weren't for riding in the back of.
The night before we left, I sat in our empty living room, boxes packed high. The only other thing in the room was the sofa I sat on. The house was empty, echoey, and hollow, and I'd realized just how big houses were. This is the last time I'll ever be at this house in the dark, I thought. That night, I studied the little indents and bumps on my wall that looked like a long face and tried to memorize them.
The following day before I left for school, Mom asked me if I wanted to say goodbye to my room. I declined, not choosing to think much of it. Instead I walked out the door for the last time. Goodbye, basement where I taught dog class. One day I came upstairs and never would again. Goodbye living room, where we'd spent all those Christmases. Goodbye, backyard patio and grass where I played with Katie and picked tomatoes. Goodbye, Winnie the Pooh bedroom. I was outgrowing it, but knowing I'd never see it again made me long for it all the same.
Everything was five feet away, yet I'd never be inside again.
So I instead focused on my music show that would be that night. We'd have a dress rehearsal for the rest of the school in the afternoon.
I walked into my classroom that evening after going to my grandparents' house after school, ready to perform for the families. It was an enjoyable evening. Our teacher had prepared fun packets for us to do while we were "waiting backstage" for our turn to go and sing our songs. Her young daughter Annie drew a picture for me. Maybe it was show anticipation, but I was starting to feel excited, though it was weird to be homeless, however temporary.
After the show, we all went back to spend the night at my grandparents' place. It was also my last night in my sunny bedroom there.
(The last day there, only a few weeks later, was a bit more eventful. My dad and my grandpa were adjusting the Pizza Hut-style lamp---only with fruit motifs instead of the words "Pizza Hut"---hanging over the kitchen table when the lightbulb smashed and fell right onto Kelly's knee. She ended up going to the hospital to get the glass removed, where she got her prized teddy bear. Fun fact: I recently discovered photos of the house at the time of this writing after the previous owners also sold. That lamp is now gone.)
I wasn't wrong about it being a new era; several of our traditions died with the Peppercorn house, such as group hugs. But memories live on. In fact, I still have lots of dreams about that house. It's one of my most frequently visited spots, and the rest of the dream seems to take on the warm, dark style of the place.
***
We moved to Oak Road that weekend.
Did anyone ever tell you how boring moving is? There was nothing to doâafter all, there was barely anything in the house yet except the piano! All we could do was watch as the movers brought in huge boxes, rugs, and furniture. Right then it looked better suited for a roller rink or bowling alley.
It was dark, like Peppercorn Bend, but in a different way. The former residents had loved dark olive greens and royal reds. As a result, my room wasn't very cheerful. Gone was my classic Pooh bedroom with pale yellow. Here, instead, was my olive green cave. I did my best to make a home of it. I played with my stuffed dogs and pretended to teach them a class. I played with a lot of toys there, which were often figurinesâlittle dogs, a mermaid from Paint N' Pottery, and more. I would also start teaching my stuffed animals through a sort of "activity group."
We ultimately got a swing set for the backyard that attracted the neighborhood kids. The backyard was huge and overlooked a cornfield in the back, where corn would grow in some summers making us feel like we were in the middle of nowhere.
One of my first memories of that year was actually having a bunch of kids over to play. They weren't Katie, but they were good all the same. Two of them were Maura and Nick, the kids who lived next door. Another was Casey, a girl two doors down Kelly's age who she would become good friends with. We would sometimes play outside. Sometimes we'd make mud pies. Other times, we'd drink ice pops and wait for the fruity juice to melt, convincing ourselves that it was a magic potion used to make plants and trees grow.
The playdates with the neighbors eventually stopped when I went next door to play one day and Maura and Nick had randomly abandoned me in their house. I had no clue where they had gone off to, so I ambled out of the house. Maybe they had been called for dinner and I had been in my own little world. Whatever. I was used to the fact that my real friends lived farther away at that point.
And there were other neighbors too. The persnickety but lovely couple across the street, who loved tending to their lawn--not just mowing it twice a week, but also vacuuming it and using a leaf blower to try and blow rainwater off their driveway. There was Dave, who always could be seen walking his sheepdogs by the cornfield---you wanted to be mad at him for letting his sheepdogs wander around other people's yards, but you just couldn't. We called him Sheepdog Guy. There were also the social but never too loud Millers next door. Kelly's grade school best friend lived down the street, too.
It's funny how you don't actively realize the process of turning a house into a home until you actually start doing it. Even my room became friendly with time, becoming a cheery shade of pink. I bought a canopy for the bed, and it soon became a girly paradise. Through my pretend games, it would become a doll town, a vet's office, and even a clubhouse. And because it was much bigger, I was also able to get my very own desk that smelled of fresh wood. If you put your nose to it, you could smell it for years, even catching whiffs when I disposed of it 14 years later. I got a dog clock, a braided rug, and an electronic fish tank. Some rooms stayed green, like the immensely tall living room. Nobody was going to try and paint that!
But it was our place now.
***
In April, my grandparents made their move as well. I ended up liking Melody Lane even better, once we got used to it. I mean, let's face it: Peppercorn Bend was dark, dated, and didn't completely suit the residents. This was a friendlier, brighter space, and only one story high.
As we began to get older, so did the traditions of the old house. We now entered the house ourselves through the garage, without knocking. There were no more group hugs because this laundry room was maybe a quarter the size of the old one. We moved from making soap to making brownies and peanut butter fudge. I never saw the Barbies again. Perhaps they were packed away in the basement somewhere, a space where the old things lived. Eventually this basement would become a joke among my family. Grandpa would store item after item down there: paper towels, dried food, even an indoor toilet...whatever you needed, it was there.
Anyway, this house was smaller but still spacious and updated. The dining room/formal living room was decorated with the same bright, floral furniture, which was hardly used, though the room was great for Christmas dinner and Grandma's special three-part dinner rolls. The kitchen behind it was small but clean and tidy with its checkered blue and white curtains on the window and pottery to match on the wall, complete with a coat of warm yellow paint. We'd also enjoy the bar-style counter as kids, where we'd held Teddy Bear Cafes at sleepovers. Actually, only Kelly called it that---I'd called it the Pink Poodle Café. Behind the kitchen was the living room, a cozy space where we'd sit on leather sofas and chairs.
It was a nice place to live, even if they didn't have much of a backyard. Arguably, it was better. Brighter. Cheerful.
There was a small porch where we could watch the deer and enjoy the quiet evenings, and on the Fourth of July, Grandpa would do his fireworks show there. We had Sorry and Scrabble tournaments at the kitchen table in the center. Whenever I slept over, I would do so in a side room that Grandpa used as a study.
Kelly and I even continued using some of the items we played with at the old house, though most of them had been banished to the basement. We used our pink balls to create a new game. One of us would stand on one side of a pole in the basement guarding the wall behind it, while the other would take the ball and throw it, trying to hit the wall.
Perhaps the biggest tradition was the birthday tradition. We celebrated birthdays together as we had used to, but this time we were in much more of a routine.
We would go out to dinner first and go to their house afterward. Kelly and I would go in their car while Emily would travel with my parents. Once there, we'd talk for a while in the living room before gifts would be opened. Then we'd gather for cake and watch as Pop-pop made rocket science out of trying to get everyone their chosen ice cream flavor from a container of Neapolitan. Emily would get tired before the rest of us, and often retreated to Grandpa's study where I slept during sleepovers.
Those are just a handful of memories. I could talk about Christmases spent in the living room, made much smaller by piles of presents. I could talk about all the things we talked about in the living room and the many Wheel of Fortune puzzles we solved. But it would take up too much time. A whole new set of traditions had come with the new house.
At the time of this writing, it's hard to believe that they have moved on to a 3-room apartment and we are again creating memories somewhere else. Now gone are the large-scale sleepovers and Sorry tournaments. It's sad when you consider the fact that we spent so much time there, but it also opens an exciting new chapter. I look back and realize just how much that house on Melody Lane became a second home. Maybe it will do the same for another family now.
***
There's a question that people are often asked: if you could design your dream home, what would it look like? Over the years, I've come to realize that maybe, no matter where you live, your dream house is wherever your family and memories reside. I daresay that Melody Lane and Oak Road are my dream houses. Homey, memory-filled, and not too big to feel lost in.
Though of course, a swimming pool wouldn't hurt.