I remember the first time I saw this house. It was a beautiful, hot July day in 2006. Our wonderful agent had worked an Open House at our previous house the whole day, and by mid-afternoon had three full-price offers for us to review. That house had only been on the market for three days, and while we knew it was a great house we didn't expect it to move so quickly! Being the trooper she was, she agreed to spend the late afternoon and evening with us and our then youngest daughter, then two years old, looking at houses. We looked at several, and a few piqued our interest but they weren't quite right. The very last house in the stack was a tri-level and it seemed to be way too far off the beaten path, both of which were strikes against it in my eyes. Nor was I enthused by the photos of it in the listing. It looked awkward and all I could see when I looked at it was the garage However, we were already out and about and it was just another few minutes, so I agreed to look at one more house that day.
As we rounded the corner onto the street, I knew I was home, and I hadn't even pulled into the driveway. We climbed the stairs onto the porch; I turned and could see the foothills of the mountains in the East and the beginnings of a fiery, summer sunset over the tree-tops in the West. The sounds of kids playing in the late evening warmth rose up from the surrounding backyards and echoed through the neighborhood. Our agent unlocked the house and we stepped inside. The previous owners had just moved the last of their things out that afternoon, and the house was freshly cleaned. And it was so beautiful. I loved the colors. I loved the lines. I loved the yard. I LOVED the bathtub. Our daughter and I even climbed in and sat for a few minutes, pretending to take a bubble bath. Mr. Four Walls was pleased that I was pleased, but was sold the moment he opened the garage door and saw all the space. Yep, this would do it for him.
We went back to our house, ordered pizza for our agent and her husband, who had joined us by that point, and sat down to write up the offer. About 36 hours later, we had a signed agreement with the sellers, and the beautiful but out-of-the-way, last-house-on-the-list was well on its way to becoming our home. The home that our kids would run to from the bus stop after school for years until they were old enough to park their cars in front of it. The home that our families would travel to for too much Turkey on cold, blustery November Thursdays. The home that we would sit in, listening to frogs sing their courtship songs across the lake and wetlands that border the neighborhood and to the far off drum-cadence during the high-school football games, instead of the airplanes, sirens, and and gunshots that rang through the streets of our old neighborhoods. We'd worked hard, building a business and building a life that was better for us and for our young kids, and we had found the home in which to celebrate those accomplishments.
Today the for-sale sign went in out front, and strangers can now peer into my kitchen, my bathrooms, my closets with just a mere phone call, and actually with just the click of a mouse. It's so strange to think about, someone else walking through this house, wanting it to be their home. We sold our last house, and while we'd put a lot of ourselves into it, it felt so right and appropriate that someone else should want it. It was time to move on. This feels different. This feels wrong, like.... like a piece of my life is up for grabs. Like when I was little and my older brothers would snatch one of my prized stuffed animals and toss it back and forth above my head to taunt me, and try as I might I couldn't get it back from them. The difference here is that at some point my brother would either get bored and drop it where ever they were as they moved onto their next trouble-making endeavor, or my parents would intervene and tell them to leave me alone. Either way, I'd get my sweet teddy-bear back. This time, however, no one will get bored, no one will intervene, and I won't get to take back my "teddy-bear." No. It's been thrown over the fence into the mean neighbor's yard, and their dogs have now made it their personal chew-toy. It's gone for good, and I have to move on.
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