The very thought of buying a new house makes me feel inadequate. Six years ago I wrote a number on a piece of paper in a strange kitchen, and a man I did not know laughed at me. A few days later my then preschool daughter forgot her show and tell and decided that she would just "tell". "My mama went to meet a man to buy a house, and he told her she didn't have enough money."
I met with a realtor today for an hour and a half, and I felt that she was telling me to prepare myself to lose money. I'm not prepared to do that. I'm going to plead with the universe a bit and declutter like I've never decluttered before. I don't want a fancy house, just one that feels like home, one that lets daddy spend more time with the kids than in the car, and three bedrooms on the same level.
On sunday the littles and I went to a birthday party out near my crush house. I'm so over it that I had to cry a little on the way home. The party was at a farmhouse with a wrap around porch, so I was primed. Houses are a difficult proposition. Sometimes it is so easy to get wrapped up in the dream that it is hard to face the reality of what you can really afford, and then you are left salvaging little parts of the dream. Four chickens. Flowers. A heart shaped stone. A leaf. An unfound door.