It's official.

The parents have sold their house.

And not just their house, but the family house. The house where they raised three children, of which I was the most recent to move out of, again, for a second time. Sight of many Christmases, Thanksgivings, cookouts, spontaeously combusting jackets, games with darts that didn't include the dart board, 10 cars that I can remember (5 of which were mine...yikes!), ugly rug patterns, the first house on the street that had a basketball net, the only house on the street I know of with a wet bar, numerous broken fence pickets (too many to count), and many childhood games and fights and those that fell in the in between where you couldn't quite tell the difference.

The hosue had been on the market for probably a little over a month. Doing all the usual things. Open houses, ad in the papers, etc. And finally it sold on Thursday night.

Of course, you'd think the parents would be quick to let us all know, and who knows, amybe my sisters found out immediately. But me? Nope, no one tells me anything. I found out from my grandmother on Saturday. That's what I call "in the loop"! (Personally, I think my mom was just mad that I wasn't coming over to do laundry this weekend, so she didn't tell me.)

So, as of now, the papers pass on December 1st, which works out really well for the folks, since that's right about the time they wanted to elave to head down south for the winter. That gives them about a month and a half to figure out what to do with all their stuff. More importantly, that gives me a month and half to figure out to do with the rest of my stuff. Most importantly, that means there's only a few weeks left of free laundry for me.

I suppose I should be weirded out by this, and I'm sure eventually I will be. But for now, not so much. I mean it's not like I didn't know it was coming. I'm sure it'll get strange that first time in about a month and a half when I'm hanging out down that way one night and think, "I'll just crash on the sofa at the folks house....oh, wait...."

But I can't complain. Thirty years of one home? That's not bad. Most people don't get thirty straight years of stability like that in any facet of their lives. It's easy to overlook, but it really is remarkable when you think about it.

And it'll be plent funny when they return from SC next year and take up residence in their in-law apartment at my uncle's house. Who'd've thought.