Friday, March 29, 2019

Our new estate

Chez D #5



















I sold a house.
I bought a house.
Then I moved.

Now the way that you just responded to that tidbit of Mis-life info will reveal oh so much about you and your sordid or non-sordid property exchanging past.

If you went "Oh! Congratulations! New house! Fun! Super duper neato for you!" then I know that either a) you've never done the sold-bought-move thing or b) it has been over two-ish years since you did the sold-bought-move thing.

However, if you just grasped my virtual hand and went "Oh. How are you? You need a hug? A glass of wine? Can I bring you a casserole?" then I know that you have done the sold-bought-move thing a) within the last two years or b) perhaps longer, but it was overly traumatic and you still shudder at the thought.

{You are so sweet a casserole would be lovely. Two, actually, because I have four teen-or-almost-teenagers and jeez louise they never stop eating. Rice, please, because I'm trying to go gluten free yet again and I will probably give up soon but humor/support me until then. Yes mushrooms are fine, we love the mushrooms. No allergies...maybe an unproven intolerance but don't worry about it beggars can't be choosers haha cabernet please...}

I am convinced that when moving, just like in childbirth, a blessed spirit of amnesia overcomes our minds and hearts and lo, our very corpora* and causes us to forget both the figurative and literal abuse we endured in order to procure our new humans slash homes.
All painful memories, gone {snap} in a supernatural moment,
when we gaze into our precious new babes slash walk in closets.
Otherwise the human race slash real estate market would {snap} cease to exist.

The last time we sold-bought-moved, it was hellacious.
Like, for real, my moving horror story can top your moving horror story hands down.

In 2013, we bought a lovely home for an overpriced Austin sum, closed, showed up on moving day and ... the sellers hadn't, you know, moved. 
All their stuff, furniture, boxes, still in the house we now owned.
So my furniture? It went in the yard while they took their sweet time moving out of our house that we had closed on a week before.

And the house was filthy. Really filthy. Inside and out. Filthy, like, I told Eva, "I'll give you .25 for every pile of dog poop you pick up out of our new backyard" and she said "Mom I'm at $3.25 but I have to stop or I'm going to throw up"
BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE
they left tons of stuff in OUR new house and refused to pick it up and we paid hundreds of dollars to have their junk hauled off and I gave away a lot of it and THEN,
THEN,
a week later when they asked where an ugly rug was and were told that I gave it away on Craig's List they proceeded to
$UE U$
for
TEN THOU$AND DOLLAR$
for $aid ugly rug.

I told you!
Winner winner gluten free chicken casserole dinner!
Yeeeeeea me!!

Comparatively, this move? Piece of cake. We had sweet sellers, sweet buyers, a wonderful friend for a realtor, and it went off pretty seamlessly.

But even a pretty seamless move is a good 7.9 on the stress scale.

But, a week later, we are in.
All seven of us.

A week later, I feel like I've unpacked probably 75,545 of the 100,874 boxes. Each room is a good 50% normal.
I cooked a real meal last night.
I got my laundry room sorta organized.
We no longer have a money pit pool.
We can slash probably never will walk slash will still be late to church.
My closet here is so much better than the last one.
I can't find my earrings or my moisturizer, but...
No one has sued us {yet} {knock wood}
It doesn't feel like home, yet.

But it will. This I know.
Because if I have learned anything, it is that home is where my people are --
whre my little (ha!) people are, and where my big hairy person is.

We are here.
All seven of us.
Sleeping, eating, loving, arguing, already clogging toilets, here.
Which means,
we are home. 



* Corpora, which I googled, is the plural for Corpus, which means body, which every Texan knows because Corpus Christi slash Body of Christ slash Spring Break slash South Padre Island. I'm not a Latin scholar, but I play one on the internet. 


     



2 comments:

  1. I'm not usually a blog commenter, but I had to this time. Because you just described our sold/bought/move this past summer. For real. Complete with lawsuit over his JUNK that we had to pack and get rid of our own selves. It never occurred to me that people would FOR REAL do that! I still feel like someone needs to bring me a casserole and some wine and its been nine months! I should be over it by now.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Oh girl, when we moved this time, all the emotions came back. It was like PTSD. Unbelievable how horrible some people can be.

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