Remember the house we were going to buy? Well, that deal is history. Yup.
After a lengthy once-over by a reputable inspector, we have decided to walk from the house. Yes, the house that I openly wept in, exclaiming, “I want to raise our children here.” It turns out that, despite appearing rather clean and sound, the house is essentially built on a sink hole, riddled with asbestos, and prone to flooding like New Orleans during hurricane season. And we wondered why the asking price was so reasonable.
Although we’ve owned property before, this is the first time we’ve gone to such trouble to find THE PERFECT HOUSE. And why? Because now we have Seabass to consider. Is there plenty of room to play outside? Are there pitbulls nearby? Is the town walkable? Is the community tight? Where is the local library/park? Does the house have enough space for entertaining friends? What is the closest school like? Do the neighbors seem, well, neighborly? Oh, and can we afford to make the monthly payment?!?!?
To illustrate how we’ve deliberated on this decision ad nauseam: This is the third property we’ve put an offer on in the past year, only to decide later that it isn’t quite right for one reason or another. Each time, our reaction to the failed deal has been different.
- The first house seemed perfect to me, but we backed out because we determined it was out of our price range. That had me in tears for a couple days, but I eventually (mostly) got over it.
- The second house was bought by people who made a better offer, which was fine because the place was really small and smelled like hamsters. Indifference.
- This last one had me thanking Jesus, Mary and Joseph for saving us from a horrible future of cracked foundations, cancer, and sandbags.
That said, I am tired. I am tired tired tired of thinking about houses. I’m tired of imagining where all my furniture will go on each floor plan. And I’m tired of moving; we have packed and unpacked seven times in the eight years since we wed. And get this: I haven’t lived anywhere longer than two years since I left home for college fourteen years ago.
Jake, on the other hand, could host a house-hunting show on HGTV. It is, like, his favorite thing to do. In the whole world. While I can’t imagine he enjoys watching deals fall through, part of me wonders if he isn’t a little excited to have an excuse to keep looking.
It’s taken so much energy and thought of late that I’m starting to wonder how important it is for us to own our home. Of course, we’ve gone through all the hoops of considering moving to a more affordable state like Oregon. But what of our community here? What of our astronomically high quality of life? What of our relationships with our neighbors, friends, local shopowners? To wheel Seabass around downtown in his stroller is to run into at least three people I know and love. How can I put a price tag on that?