Saying Goodbye to Our Home (and Hi to What’s Next)

We’re leaving the home where our babies became kids

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Four years ago, we bought a house down a quiet road across from a community garden, right near the river.

It wasn’t the plan. It was never the plan.

The plan was Brooklyn. We moved to the border of Prospect Heights and Crown Heights in 2019 and, as we unpacked our boxes, vowed not to move for a long, long time. We had an excellent coffee shop on one corner and very solid tacos on the other. I was pregnant with Simone. Ace was still a puppy and ran in happy circles around our apartment.

Then the pandemic. Our pandemic baby. The world upended.

My parents lived in a charming town on the Delaware River called Frenchtown, where Tony and I got married. We planned to stay with them for a few weeks. Then a few months. And here we are, five years later.

In 2021, my dad messaged me and Tony a house listed for sale on Facebook Marketplace. Yes, Facebook Marketplace. It was around the corner from their house. There were no realtors involved. We went to see it. It’s objectively a small house—1,300 square feet—but I’d spent most of my adult life in NYC apartments, and to me it felt like a mansion. There was a sweet porch and a backyard. I felt those tingles up and down my arms. We said to the sellers, “Your home is beautiful, thank you,” and as we walked out the door, I turned to Tony and said:

“Let’s do it.”

Yesterday, I took the kids to say goodbye to the house, at Simone’s request. It was empty. To me, it looked small without our things—our furniture, the toys, Julius’s watercolors from Sprouts preschool taped to the wall. But the kids said it looked big. I was worried they’d be terribly sad or weirded out, but they ran around in circles, just like puppy Ace had done in Brooklyn. Simone wrote a letter (see below) by way of goodbye.

When Julius was born, we brought him home to that house. There was a corner of the couch where I nursed him, propped up with pillows, while Simone snuggled beside me and Ace plopped himself at my feet. We threw a party for my 35th birthday and invited everyone we knew. We left the garlands up on the windows for the next two years.

That house holds a lot. Our babies became toddlers, then kids, within those walls. We transitioned from the Snoo to the crib to big kid beds. My dad and Tony built a playhouse in the backyard—Simone cried when she saw it was gone. (The sellers asked us to remove it; our landscaper, who has three little ones, took it home.) They also spent a full day assembling Julius and Simone’s bunk beds.

I wrote a lot of words in that house. I cooked a lot of dinners and packed a lot of lunches. I taught writing classes. I shed a Delaware River’s worth of tears. There were sleepless nights. Sick kids, sick grownups, once even a sick dog. And there were blueberry muffins, birthday cakes, small joys and big milestones.

Tony got an exciting new job in Chicago, so we’re heading to the Windy City. Chicago holds a sort of lore in my family—my parents met at the University of Chicago and lived there throughout their 20s. I grew up on stories about digging out from avalanches of snow and the magic of the city.

We keep hearing good things about Chicago: how amazing the food is, how it’s so clean, how it has some of the energy of New York but with that Midwestern niceness.

In one way, as a freelance writer, I can take my work anywhere—I just need my laptop.

In another way, I’ve spent two decades building a life in NYC and NJ.

I was feeling sad about the move, and my therapist asked, “If you had known you were leaving, would you have done anything differently?”

And honestly, I wouldn’t.

I’m so grateful for the beautiful people in my life here:

The preschool teachers who cheerleaded me through teary drop-offs.

My friends who’ve listened, laughed, and vented with me.

My parents, who have been such an enormous, irreplaceable part of our daily lives—and who love my kids like magic.

This house, and this chapter, will always be part of me. But I’m also excited.

I’m excited for what the next city will bring. For the new connections I’ll make, both personally and professionally. For our family’s next page. For new playgrounds and old bookstores and a little more snow. And for reconnecting with my inner city girl, who’s always been there—under the yoga pants and packed lunches—ready to ride the L train or find the best spot for a late-night snack.

Wish us luck. We’ll see you soon, Chicago.

💛

Hannah

PS Ready to write your book? My friend Kelsey Shipman and I are going DEEP on a book proposal intensive, coming your way soon. Stay tuned!

PPS In honor of Mother’s Day, I’m sharing this story I wrote for Edible Philly (the spring cover story!) about powerhouse moms in food and bev.

PPPS I also loved writing about my favorite local Thai spot.