The Memoir

It was probably cold and depressing outside. It was probably raining or snowing outside, which it is more than half of the year in Connecticut. We had just moved into my Grandpa’s old house. He had moved out and we had just sold our cute, yellow house with the green shudders on Wayne Drive. We loved that house and we had made it our home by painting it, putting in hard wood flooring, and even making the sun room into a finished bonus room with a pellet stove that we would sit around to keep warm during the harsh winter. Now my mom was pregnant with my brother, and this was her third child. This meant we would have 5 people in our family, and the cute, yellow house with the green shudders only had three bedrooms. There was simply not enough room. Moving into my Grandpa’s house was temporary and my parents were searching for a new house for our growing family.
I thought my parents were searching for a house in our little town of Plainville, so that I would not have to switch schools. At the time I had just turned thirteen and I figured my mom would understand that I could not possibly change my school and move away from all my friends and all the people I loved. Looking back, I was not prepared for what was to come next. My mom, my step-dad and I were sitting in the living room on one of those cold, rainy Connecticut days. My mom, young and beautiful, blonde with big brown eyes, and quite round from being pregnant, looked me in the eyes and said, “Amanda, how would you feel about moving to Florida?”