Oh, woe is me. Pity party? Your table is ready.
These last five or six days have truly been a roller coaster of emotions. The house went up for sale last week, and Sunday we had our first showings. Yesterday we had three more showings, and who knows what on Earth will happen today.
On Saturday morning, this happened:
What you don’t see in this picture is me standing in the middle of the driveway sobbing as the sign went up. This house, after all, is just stuff, nothing that really matters in life, but I’ve become attached to it. I never had a moment (even when our bathrooms were in complete disarray) where I wished we wouldn’t have bought it. I love this house. Ohio, I could leave, but this house is ours. It is, quite literally, the biggest thing we have ever done.
But it is still just stuff.
So then my mood swings the other way. Heck yeah, we did a hella good job fixing this place up – there is gonna be a bidding war on this baby, you just watch… Our first showing report came back with everything save an actual offer; they love the house, this is THE house, oh. my. goodness. It was if it was “meant to be,” they said.
But then we get comments about how a potential buyer liked the house, but wasn’t so sure about the backyard.
And then we find out that the house down the street sold in THREE DAYS (Yippeee!!) last month. For seventy-five percent of what they listed it for. Wah wah.
Do you see what I mean?
I flip-flop back and forth between feeling so sure that we are going to get top dollar and feeling like we are going to have this mortgage hanging over our head while we are out in Colorado, living in the tiniest shanty that we can’t afford. I am desperately trying to stay positive. I’ve been told that I’m pretty stellar at worrying about things, “and this will give you plenty to worry about, Lisa. Whatever will be, will be.” Indeed.
We have been leaving a fresh pot of coffee on, in the hopes that the little things will make a big difference. Like replacing all the forty-year-old outlets and light switches? Yep. We did that.
I’ll be working on a “home book” of all our before and after pictures, copies of utility bills, school information, etc. A friend who is a superstar at helping out real estate agents suggested it. Funny, our real estate agent did not.
If I were a drinker, I would be totally toasted right now. I drink very seldom, but if I wasn’t nursing Alice, I would be knocking back a few brewskies at the moment. I don’t drink; I eat cheese. Lots of it.
After putting the kids to bed last night, I made baked brie for Nathan and I. He likes his sweet with apples; I like mine plain with pears. I split the wheel in half, wrapped each in puff pastry, polished off the last of our maple syrup from our trip to Vermont, covered Nathan’s in brown sugar and sat down to write this post while they baked. Following their stint in soon-to-be-someone-else’s oven, we sat down and polished them off. This, I’ll have you know, is the housewife equivalent to a night of binge-drinking.
And you betcha I’ll be feeling it tomorrow. All while I drown my sorrows in finishing up the kids’ costumes; they gotta be ready for Friday’s library Halloween party. Stay tuned for greener pastures and a happier me!
I leave you with this, one of my very favorite scenes from Anchorman…