New Year's Resolution,
I did say I would write here more, and then Life said,
"Silly girl, wait till you see what I have in store for you!"
We've known for a long time we needed to move.
There are eight people using one bathroom in this house. That means DMV-quality lines on a regular basis, with attitudes to match. There have been times when I have had BOTH of The Littles "using" the backyard trees because a Big was parked it the bathroom, and their little bladders, simultaneously, couldn't wait. That would be fine in an emergency, but it's become a way of life.
That ain't right.
Build a bathroom, you say? Yes, everyone who loves us and wants us to stay keeps suggesting that. And what do I do about the tiny kitchen that won't fit my whole family around the table? or the boys sleeping in the enclosed patio?
No, it was already time to move a looong time ago.
But a new motivation has set things in motion.
Dad is coming to live with us!
Um, oh yah, one bathroom, 9 people...
Time to move.
While we embark on this new adventure (that's what I'm calling it. "Adventure". It's not original, I know, but it's better than "Panic Attack" or "Massive Eye Twitch"), I'll jot notes here... rough and probably not well edited, to keep my commitment to myself to write our family history here. It will be brief, but the ten people who actually read this will be glad for that.
This week we have gone to see 3 properties. Well, two. One would have required a sherpa and three alpacas to get to, and a tow truck and a winch to get us out. We made it down the brambly, pothole-laden dirt road that Google Maps assured us should take 10 minutes (ha! try 25) to within a half-mile of the house, then sat in the van, perched on the precipice of a slope that certainly was the inspiration for every roller-coaster drop every made, and turned to look at each other.
"Nope." Guy said.
"We may make it down, but I don't think we'll get back out."
"If you don't feel right about it, let's turn around." I agreed.
I was sad after an hour of driving to have gotten that far and not even have seen the cute house we had admired in the MLS listing, but we had decided a few miles back that this was not a drive we could make every day. No wonder the house has been listed so long. That driveway was like the bridge troll in a Monty Python film. "None shall pass!"
Another house taunted me with it's cute, moss-covered retaining walls and acre lot with a creek running through it, but the interior was, um, somewhat dismal. At one point I think I may have uttered the words,"I see dead people."
The last house we saw is a Maybe. It meets many criteria that we have to fill, though we haven't been in it yet. Our agent had a dental emergency, so we decided to just see if it was even reachable without a biplane before we dragged her out there. This particular Maybe would be a lot of work, and it's a little funky, as most houses on the outskirts of towns are, but it's on a couple of acres and is in a beautiful area. And you get to drive through a hilarious little ram-shackle gold mining town that looks like a movie set to get there, so bonus points for quirky charm.
Back here on the home-front we are packing, painting, and trying to get this old girl gussied up. She is somewhat reluctant to put on the girdle I'm trying to squeeze her into. We won't have time to do a lot of what I would wish to do to get it ready, and I am having to dial down the perfectionism in my repairs. It's probably not necessary for me to get a porcelain smooth finish on window frames for 60 year old aluminum windows that someone will likely yank a week after they sign on the dotted line.
Yah, probably not.
Now, on to that pile of empty boxes.
(to be continued...)