“I was around 10 years old when we moved. I only now know, it was a move that my parents were worried about. As a little girl, I had no idea. I feel bad. I know they wanted more, I just never fully understood what “more” was. The move came at a not so good time, according to my parents….but for me,  I just have happy memories of being able to stay in my same school. Mom blamed herself. She always felt she should have been better prepared, she should have done more, and Dad, like he always does, took the guilt mom had and put it on his shoulders. I was only 10. I understand why they kept so much from us….but if I was able to go back in time, I would want them to know, do not worry, trust the process….because in the end, it will all work out…..and you know what, it did work out. Maybe not the way my parents had planned, but it did work out.”

I worry.

Ten years from now, I can only hope Sofia has those thoughts. I feel we are doing our children a disservice from moving to one apartment to possibly another. As of now, I have no idea where we are moving, just that we have to. We have to move for Gracie’s health. We have to move because our current apartment is ripping us off. We have to move now, yet our Lender needs about two more months ….or better put, he tells me Joe and I need two more months.

I look around at my friends, friends my own age. They are successful. They were able to provide a house for their children, and here I am trying to make it seem like a fun new adventure to my girls that we may be moving from one apartment to another.

I often wonder where I went wrong, however if you are a reader of this blog, you can point out at least twenty blog post that show exactly where it is that I went wrong.

My dad and uncle have a blog (you can read it Here ) about them growing up in the projects of New York City. Their blog is filled with wonderful childhood memories, not only of growing up in New York, but the two bedroom apartment they had in which they had to share a room until they moved out. I look at them, and think “Okay, well they did it so my kids can do it too.” My dad and uncle turned out to be pretty amazing people. Different, but the same. I can only hope for that for my children.

I know a house is not the end all be all to everything, yet I still have the guilt. Maybe it is because growing up, we always lived in a house. I do not know what it is, I just have this guilt I cannot get rid of.

I have no idea what will happen. I have no idea how my children will turn out in twenty years, I just hope that each one of them will be able to look back on these times and realize that their parents did they best they could under some trying circumstances.

As for me, I know one day I will have my house. It may be as soon as three months from now, or with my luck  forty years from now when Hospice is called in, just in time for me to leave this place…..but dammit, at least I will have my house.