After about a year’s worth of searching, we finally have our own home.
It has been a tumultuous process – we looked at over twenty houses, put in offers on three different properties, had two of them fall through, logged in hundreds of hours of phone calls to real estate agents and loan brokers, cried a few “I’m tired of this and want to give up” tears – but it came to an end last week. We signed a mountain of paperwork, and received keys to our new home. Well, “new” is relative, since the house is over a hundred years old.
Our first night sleeping here was a surreal experience, as we felt like we were in a stranger’s house. But we have been living here for the last couple of days, and it is gradually starting to feel like home. Even though moving was a bit chaotic, it feels comforting to start settling into our new place. I have become obsessed with nesting, spending all my free time unpacking, cleaning, and fixing little odds and ends. Seriously, if anyone needs some holes drilled into their wall, I’m your woman. Because the house is so ancient, there are endless fixer-upper projects to do. Like half the doors don’t close completely. And there are screws and nails in all sorts of random places on the walls. Personally, I think it just adds to the charm. It is ours and I love it.