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Last year, my grandparents sold their house to move closer to my parents. But it was more than my grandparent's house. It was the first house i ever lived in. It's the house my mom brought me home from the hospital to. That's the bathtub where I took my first bath. That's the stairway I fell down in my walker. That's the backyard where I had my first swingset. It didn't really hit me until we went back to see what the new owners had done with the place--that that house was the home of alot of firsts.

My mom and I made our way up to the attic, and I had the most vivid flashback of me at an old typewriter typing letters to people. Some I knew, some I didn't. And I was all alone just being creative. It's pretty powerful to think how deep our futures run into the past. Who would have thought that my love affair with words would lead to my current life. Who could have predicted that a 5-yr-old with a typewriter would one day be a 25-yr-old with a laptop typing a blog. Or writing songs. I have to say, God is a genius. Who knows what little seeds are being planted right now. The ones I won't see come into fruition until I'm old and gray.

I'd also like to mention (for my own memory's sake), that there was a moment where my mom and i stood alone crying in the upstairs bathroom. She said, "That's where I gave you your first bath." And it was over.

Needless to say, next time I go home, that bathtub will be in parent's house.