I realize I haven’t posted in over a month.
I also realize that my very last post was lamenting some bad news about a house that I wanted but we didn’t get.
I will now admit that I was doing that thing where I take the high road and try to convince myself that everything is just the way it is supposed to be and I was forcing myself to pretend like I was walking in the direction of acceptance.
But here is what was really happening. In light of the idea of moving, John continued house shopping. We both got the itch scratched that we could really use a slightly bigger place. We also both got a serious urge to finally upgrade to a better neighborhood. Don’t get me wrong. I love my current house… I love almost everything about it. It is an open floor plan. The kitchen is huge. It is easy to clean. It is ridiculously efficient in the way of heating and cooling (but mostly cooling, the thing just stays perpetually cool, even in hot summer months). I love my gigantic screened in back porch. Up until a few weeks ago, I loved sitting in the rockers on my front porch while the girls played in the cul-de-sac.
But I do not love my neighborhood, where no one parks their cars in the garage and most trickle from a small driveway out on to the street. I do not love storing my winter clothes under the bed because my closet is small, and full. I do not love that I have to kick older kids outside or force them to be quiet inside during baby-nap-time because sound carries through this thing like a cheap motel. I have tried to love my back yard, but the fact is, I just don’t, and I don’t even think it is worth the amount of work it would take to make me love it. And I wish my kids had friends nearby to play with.
I would like more space inside, and more distance from my neighbors. And in light of the car alarm going off every morning, next door, like clockwork (and the memories of dorm life it so clearly resembles), I’d also love to upgrade the level of general human consideration. But maybe that’s just the snob in me.
So for about two weeks after the bad news last month, John continued to scour Zillow, and continued to email me links. Links I mostly did not open. Houses I mostly did not want to go see. Neighborhoods I mostly did not care about.
Because my heart was settled on THAT HOUSE. The one I didn’t get.
One night I finally broke down and told John, “Honey. Just stop looking. I don’t want another house. I don’t want another neighborhood. I want THAT house, or at the very least, I want that neighborhood. And at this point, I’m willing to wait for it. I don’t know why, but that’s my house, and I’m going to get it one way or another. Even if we have to come in next year and buy it out from under the people who just got it, because I feel like they are going to default or be unable to pay or something is just going to happen, because that’s my house. I know it sounds awful, but for the very few things I truly wish for in life, I just feel like this is one thing I’m going to get if I wait for it.”
Wait for it, indeed.
WE GOT THE HOUSE!!
The first offer fell through. Our offer went in. Our offer was accepted. We have a closing date penciled in.
And I haven’t even planted my container garden, the one I had already planned to be mobile because I knew I wasn’t going to be here long.
So I’m not Spring cleaning right now. Oh no. I’m about to fully re-organize my life because I get to start from scratch, and scratch includes an abundance of closets.
I could not be more thrilled.