Raising Kids in a Haunted House

How appropriate for this month, am I right? Before I dive into all things spooky, let me begin by proclaiming my normalcy. I am a mother of four, business owner and I have been happily married for over a decade. I attend church regularly and have so my entire life, I detest folding laundry and the fast food people know me well …see? Normal. But, I have a little secret: I was raised in a haunted house, and have since purchased the house with my family.

At the age of three, my family and I moved into a home that was over 150 years old. The house has gorgeous 12 foot tall ceilings, giant wooden doors with beautiful trim and in the heart of the home stands a dark, spiral staircase holding it all together. Growing up in such a house was a dream. (Not a nightmare!) No one ever sat me down on the sofa and told me, “This house is haunted.” No, that came with time and experience.

I know what you’re thinking, too: Nope. Nope. Nope. Why haven’t you moved yet? OR She has lost her mind. There is no such thing as ghosts. I get it. It sounds absurd. But years of experiences to so many different people stand to differ. We know of families going back to the 1960’s who had records of similar events.

To be honest, I can’t even remember the first time I had a spooky experience in the house. It was almost as if I had always known there was something “off”. I grew up with doors closing, random knocking, lights turning off and on without any effort, swinging light fixtures, televisions flipping through channels, radios without timers turning on in the middle of the night…I could go on and on, but this is a blog, not a novel!

Luckily, I wasn’t alone in these occurrences. I have two sisters who had plenty of strange stories and my mother had her share of odd happenings. We had one bedroom that was known for blaring the radio at odd times, and the closet door in that room was known to open wide without anyone near. One night when I was a young teen, I woke up in that room to someone playing with my hair. It almost felt motherly, the way it touched my forehead. I drifted back to sleep and when I mentioned it to my mother over breakfast the following morning, she admitted that she had a similar experience in the same room.

My son who is in that room now came downstairs a few weeks ago and told me that he liked the way I was rubbing his back, and asked me why I had stopped. He and I were home alone at the time, and I had been downstairs for an hour. He was not upset at all, but very confused. My husband and I have decided to steer clear of the word “ghost” with the kids because that encompasses scary images, where “guardian angels” is comforting and protective.

We pray each night with the kiddos, and ask God to keep an eye over us as we sleep. On occasion, after tucking in my littles, I simply say, “We need our sleep tonight, so please be let us be!” We have never been truly scared or harmed so we will continue to coexist with them while they continue to visit.

My grandparents purchased the house in the 70’s and fell in love with it, as did my parents in the nineties and my husband and I a few years ago. The history of the house is so rich, you can almost feel it when you walk in the doors. I love that it has lasted over a century and our family is blessed enough to be the caretakers for our generation. When you own an old home, you take the flaws: the stains on the wood, the scratches on the door, and sometimes perhaps even a few spirits.

Have any of you mama’s out there had to deal with a similar situation? How did you handle it with your littles?