Side note: this post is very ramble-y, stream-of-consciousness-y, and hasn't been properly proofread.
The world of house hunting goes well for us, my friends. Today at 1pm, we will be putting in an offer on a cute, little, 3 bedroom, 2 bathroom ranch. 1,443 square feet, main floor laundry, a master bedroom with a master bathroom and walk in closet. There is a full basement of which half is finished, a large, fenced backyard, and front and back porches. It is in a small subdivision that we've heard great things about. It is not walking distance to town nor is there a nearby park, but with a fenced backyard, finished basement, and my own car, I think we can counter-balance the negatives. It's in the same town as we currently live, so nothing outside of our address will change - like the school system, our church, or even the grocery store.
I am excited about the house, but trying not to get my hopes up. I spent a lot of time in prayer over this house, and the more I pray, the more I feel that this is the right call. In addition, the price is right and we are the only interested party. But our offer could still be rejected, the bank could not want to work with someone who hasn't yet earned his first paycheck at his new job. Lots of things could pop up in the middle of this "Buying a House" roadway and we'd have to slam on the breaks.
Buying a house is nothing like I thought it'd be and nothing like it was when we tried to buy the house in Lansing in 2013, when we were first moving back to Michigan from Chicago. I thought when Matt got a job, we'd buy a house, and bam! Instant stability and relaxation. But so far it has largely just been stress. I think it has probably just been the whole stressful year, what with the buying two cars, getting ready to have a baby, and starting a new job.
This whole process has been stressful, nothing is for-sure, and we haven't even actually put in the offer yet (1.5 hours until we meet with the agent!), but I still find myself skimming Apartment Therapy's small bedroom fixes, flipping through the Ikea catalog to discern possible kitchen renovations that could fit in a 3-5 year plan (the last time I spent at least five years at one address, it was from ages 8-14 when I lived in a suburb of Detroit!), and contemplating paint colors for the girls' room. At night I fall asleep thinking about where we're going to put our bookshelves and how wonderful it will be to stash outgrown clothes and Christmas decorations in our basement. I've even been stalking the local animal control's pet adoptions page, trying to find a medium-to-large, middle-aged dog who's good with small kids and just wants to lay on someone's living room floor and be petted. Someone who might be interested in an evening stroll around the neighborhood with a couple of pink-sparkly-shoe-wearing toddlers and a stroller.
Matt starts his new job tomorrow and Abigail returns to preschool. For three hours a day for the next three months, Eleanor can pretend to be an only child and I can attempt to get some packing and deep cleaning done around here. If this house falls through, there is nothing else on the market right now that tempts us and we have decided not to build, so we'll just get a storage unit, and continue to slowly pack and clean while waiting to see if anything worthwhile pops up.
That has been my life for so long: picking a course of action that would be best for the most possible outcomes, proceeding along, and waiting. If everything goes smoothly with this house, that uncertainty and lack of stability will finally stop. I will finally, finally put down roots.