Doors close, doors open

I was married and renting, the rest of us still around after college were single and renting, and her buying the house meant we were grown ups FOR REAL. We happily listened as she made the plans for her new build, we helped her go through the punch list when it was complete, we helped her paint, decorate, arrange her furniture. Then, we had slumber parties, bbqs, Mary Kay parties and soon, for me, a baby shower there. Ali and I planted a wildflower garden in the backyard the night before my first child was born.

Time went on and of course some of us got married, some had children, we all got older. But there was something about Ali's house that always brought me back to that time of my life, that mid 20s, life-is-wonderful time. Every time I go into her downstairs bathroom I remember painting it, and how our friend Jay had a painting trick he showed us for trim that wowed us. I remember her consulting us on the bright, bright green she put in her entry. It was so happy and cheerful — a perfect color for Ali's house.

When, at long last, it was Ali's turn to get married and start a family, I was secretly glad she decided to sell his house and stay in hers.

But with a two year old and plans for more in the future, Ali and her husband decided to build another house, a bigger one, and I am happy for her. I can't wait to see her family grow and settle into a space that fits them better. But unexpectedly, I find myself a little sad we won't be having those celebrations in the house that started it all, this place that launched a group of happy college grads into that world of adulthood we embraced so eagerly then, but now look back on with a wry smile and shake of our heads.

It seems, we are grown ups for real now.