Dear third house on the left,

Here I am sitting in my sorority house 700 miles away from you and all the comfort and happiness you bring me. I think about you a lot and can picture you perfectly room by room. I miss you almost as much as I miss your inhabitants, a.k.a. the fam. You are a very large part of my childhood after all. In the words of singer-songwriter Miranda Lambert, you are the house that built me. I vividly remember stepping inside for the first time. Nervously wandering up the front steps, hesitantly grabbing the handle (scalding from the sun), and gently pushing the front door open. Gazing inside with a deer-in-headlights look upon my face. I planted myself in the front foyer and looked around. Emptiness. An empty living room, a vacant dining room, and a deserted family room. I dragged myself upstairs. Four bedrooms, just as empty, just as unknown. I took a deep breath and went downstairs to start unpacking my life into what I was hoping was going to be a perfect fit for my family. Looking back on that day makes me laugh. I was so afraid this new house wouldn’t live up to the old one. But this house was not a house, it was a home.

I owe you one big giant thank you, mostly for giving me shelter and not making me a homeless person, but for being a huge part of my childhood. Living under your roof, playing, laughing, crying, growing and learning for 13 years was nothing short of a picture-perfect life. Playing soccer with the neighbors in the freshly mowed backyard, baking the world's best chocolate chip cookies with my mom in the kitchen, eating Christmas dinner in the dining room, playing with my 10,000 Barbie dolls in my bedroom, fighting with my brother in our shared bathroom, or sitting on my dad's lap laughing at everything he says in the big chair of the family room. All the memories I have made within those walls, thank you for them all.

I also owe you an apology. One, for leaving you a year ago. Believe me, watching you in the rearview mirror getting smaller and smaller ripped my heart out. Two, for not always appreciating you. And lastly, for leaving you with a few scars. Like that huge dent in the wall of the family room. Sorry my brother and I used to get wrapped up in blankets and roll around calling it a “tornado.” Who knew his hard head could do that much damage. I also apologize for the hole behind the door that I swung open just a little to fast. And I really do feel bad about the walls of my room, ruined from tacking up pictures of my besties and posters of Justin Bieber, Zac Efron, and Big Time Rush (don’t judge me for that one, they had their moments). I am terribly sorry for the wood floor. I am most defiantly responsible for 99 percent of those scratches. Sorry, I had to practice my tap dancing somewhere. Lastly I apologize for the many, many, many spills on the carpet. Who knew ketchup, Gatorade, cough syrup and red nail polish stained, am I right?

When I think of my childhood I will always picture the third house on the left, the white stucco house with a big front window and an always-welcoming charm. That big charcoal door that has no problem letting anyone in. That smell inside that you cannot seem to explain to anyone else. The big tree in front that looks best in the fall, the six-foot fence hugging the borders of the backyard, creating a perfect diving board onto the trampoline. My brother's red Nissan parked in front, him shooting baskets, and missing most. My mom relaxing on white chairs on the front porch that I had my first kiss on, reading People, waving at the neighbors. My dad meticulously mowing the lawn I spent so many summers counting stars on. My huge fluffy dog lying lazily on the driveway, ripping apart a bone while my cat peaks through the front window, desperate to smell that fresh air. That’s my all-time favorite image. Life was simple when that was what I could come home to. Thank you for that image. That image will never be erased from my mind, and will bring me comfort in the darkest times. Thank you for being more that just a house to live in. Thank you for always keeping me safe, I promise to keep the memories safe with me for the rest of my life. Thank you for one killer childhood.

Much love from your favorite resident,

Ashley