A possibility!

A couple weeks ago, we looked at a little bungalow in P-ville. I'd fallen in love with it, hard, and when it turned out to be in truly lousy repair (mold to the eyebrows, water damage, the works), I cried all afternoon.

Yesterday I cried all afternoon too, because it was a hard day. Meg was sick, so we didn't get to do anything fun, and she didn't feel good and she wanted to watch Winnie-the-Pooh again, and I was bug-bitten and discouraged and about three-quarters convinced that I wasn't going to get a house ever. I was going to be grown-up and realistic in the current market and be doomed to townhouses until I'm forty. It will be awful. Mom said she'd pray.

It just goes to show, you should always have your mother pray for you. This morning a house popped up on the market in the neighborhood we like best. It's older than I am and pleasantly eccentric, with a nice yard and three enormous maples and minor repair issues of the kind I can actually tackle myself, like repainting and pulling vines off the metal siding. I was actually ready to buy it just from the outside. But I didn't. That is, I waited for Jonathan and our realtor and we looked all through the inside and the basement, and then we decided to pursue buying it. It will need a lot of work and some de-weirding. The kitchen cabinets are all really short. The next step is for our financial whiz to do whatever it is she does and tell us whether or not we can afford it.*

In the interest of not crying all afternoon tomorrow, I'm trying not to crush on it too hard. I do think it could be quite cute and I could make the best garden ever on that land. We'll see. I am trying to practice hope and contentment and wisdom and not leaping before I look and so forth. House-hunting is exhausting.



*She did explain. And I paid attention and understood most of it. But I feel it would be selfish to take numbers away from people who actually like them, which is why I was a lit major and now I write about laundry and hyperdrives. This is called Division of Labor.