So we’re selling our house. This probably comes as a bit of a surprise to some of you who know us, for you know all too well how much work we’ve put into this place. It truly is ours. Somebody will bear the fruits of our labor for sure. Although they will have to pay for it. I’m surprised, actually, at how much my heartstrings have been pulled, though, when I think about not living here. Houses really do become part of your identity in a way. This is the place where my wife and I got engaged. It’s where we brought our babies home. It’s where we (painstakingly) stripped every bit of wallpaper, carpeting and remnants of 40 years ago and turned into a beautiful, updated colonial home. It definitely hurts a little to leave.
That said, I have to realize that things have changed here materially. While the house was perfect for the two of us, the space here just isn’t sufficient for 4 of us. I should rephrase that. The living area is probably suitable. It’s the total lack of storage that is killing us and is common in these 100-ish year old houses in New England. Steph doesn’t even have a clothes closet. That’s wrong, so we need to change it.
So with that comes the great, great fun in selling a home. In a down market. We’ve been scrambling during the very few spare hours we have to get this place ready for selling, which means essentially turning your life upside down and finding spots for the things you haven’t used since you moved in. It’s slightly cathartic, I suppose, although now we can’t find anything. Small price to pay.
We’ll be staying in Maynard, by the way. It’s really the only place we’re looking. We futzed around Bolton and Acton a little bit, but have decided Maynard is where we want to be for several reasons I won’t get into. There’s a couple of places we could probably envision ourselves, but we’ll leave it up to fate and our realtor to find the next place we’ll call our home.
Sidenote: part of preparing to sell is getting the outside looking nice. This is something that has been largely disregarded since June when the monkeys were born. So I spent all day Saturday out there raking, mulching, hauling, wheelbarrowing, weeding, trimming, blah blah blah. And I did good! Then, at the end of the day, something flew into my eye. Three hours later I was sitting in the ER because I couldn’t get the damn thing out and man, it hurt. Good times. Of course, it took them all of 60 seconds to extract what turned out to be a piece of bark mulch. You haven’t lived until you’ve had bark mulch in your eye.