We had one weekend to look for and buy our home when we moved to MA. Ok, technically we had two weekends, but it took the entire first trip to figure out the what, where, and how much. The when was set in stone based on my husband’s job start date and my inability to handle the one bedroom temporary housing for more than a month.
We landed on our current (and first) house, and were excited to raise our oldest in this cute ranch house with a kick-a$% yard in an award winning school district. We signed the P & S and celebrated with a bagel (these were pre-GF days)
Then, we found out I was pregnant. Then, we found out we were having twins.
We managed pretty easily the first year. Our oldest took the
smallest walk-in closet sized bedroom, the twins shared another, and we took over the third. Then the twins were mobile. Then there were potty training-with one bathroom. And the house started to feel less cute, and more crowded. Now it feels like a clown car. But we stayed because we like the neighbors. We like the preschool. My husband loves (loves!) his job. The jury is still out on the elementary school.
Fast forward to yesterday when an architect is in our kitchen talking about a possible addition, and he sounds like Charlie Brown’s teacher (womp womp). I’m trying to listen, but inside I’m wondering how we will every afford it, if I even want it, and how my life feels like an episode of HGTV. (I wish it was Fixer Upper and Chip & Joanna Gaines were here!!!)
My husband is on team Love It. He comes from a family with the mentality of staying put. You buy the house and never leave. I’m on team List It. I come from the greener pastures mentality that something else is always out there. It’s a tough combination, but also provides us both with important perspective. Will a bigger house make my life easier? Probably not. But non-basement laundry and a larger kitchen could help. A happier and healthier wife could only benefit my husband, too.
You might be reading this and thinking I’m materialistic and shallow. Not true. If you know me, you are likely reading this and think I always have buyer’s remorse (even at the grocery store). That’s true. Someone reading this might even identify with me and get what I’m trying to say. It’s not really about the house. It’s about the life.
Having a chronic illness challenges me in many ways, but it also affords me the opportunity to say flat out when something isn’t working. My house isn’t working-that”s clear. The only question now is do we love it? Or list it? (and where the heck are the HGTV people to pay for all of this and film my adorable family?!)