When You Can’t Go Home Again

photo 3 This weekend, we did some time traveling.

Er, okay, not really. But we did go to Georgia, to the base where hubby was stationed for four and a half years back when we were wee little baby adults. (Also known as The Time Before Kids.)

In a lot of ways, going back to Georgia felt like going home. When you spend that many years at one base, you get settled. You learn the back roads. You learn the best local restaurants. You develop a history there. And when you go back after seven years away, it feels surreal, like you’re visiting a past life.

And when you pull into your old neighborhood, even knowing that it’s been torn down since you left, you understand the term ghost town. Because you can still hear the neighbor kids playing. Still envision the candle and kitchen gadget and scrapbooking parties happening. Still smell the smoke from the neighborhood grills.

photo 2

I pulled over to take a picture of where our house used to be, and Munchkin piped up from the back seat. “Mom? Where are we?”

I pointed to the overgrown grass and trees. “Daddy and I used to live in a house right there.”

He gave me the squinty-eyed what’s-she-talking-about? look. “You used to live in a forest?”

Pretty sure he’s got some interesting ideas now of how we lived before he came along. And I suspect watching The Croods Sunday night didn’t help those impressions.

All in all, an interesting trip. I’m glad we went while we had the chance, but I don’t think I’ll go back again.

How about you? Have you ever gone back to a place you used to live?

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