I remember when the hubs and I decided to sell our old home. We’d been there for ten years which is the longest either of us ever held an address. We put in countless dollars and hours of sweat equity making it ours. Almost every room was painted at least twice. We ripped up carpet. Laid down laminate. We even built an entire room for our oldest in the lower level. It was a hard decision but we had outgrown our 1,000 square feet.
Our sweet, well done home sat on the market for nine months. Nine! We could have added another kid to our family in that amount of time!! Talk about discouraged! Countless showing and not a single decent offer. We pulled her and settled in for another few months. Our agent, awesome guy who was practically family after two years of house hunting, hired a stager.
I’m not one for people telling me what to do with my space, but I gave her a chance. I commend myself for not insisting she leave immediately when she told me I had to paint my beloved living room a neutral tone. The living room that got painted three times until I found the perfect shade of blue that I loved! After several mutinous hours, and me pouting like a four year old, I agreed to paint it. Only if our new living room could carry on my color! I win!!
Apparently the stager knew what she was doing because when we listed again, it sold in seven days! Talk about wild!! Except for the fact that now we had no where to live. Craaappp!! Marathon house hunting, long days, and countless pro and con lists landed us in our awesome 2,400 square feet we call home.
From the get go, we didn’t want another fixer upper. We did not want to fix, sand, tape, rip out or lay down anything in our new home. Dead set against anything other than painting and wouldn’t you know it, we ended up with another fixer upper. What can I say, we are gluttons for punishment. And we love it!!!
Well, except for when we fall feet first into puddles caused by others people negligence. Nothing like strolling into the laundry room and being greeted with a giant puddle of gross water from some backed up something or another. Impressed by my mad plumbing lingo? Yeah, me either.
Blessed is the woman with an awesome mechanically inclined husband. It’s me. I’m she. Because if it were up to me, I’d just be doing dishes in the bathroom. No shame just sheer honesty. The kitchen sink is doing funky things and leaving messes in my laundry room and I’m not stressed. I mean washing dishes shouldn’t also mean wet vacuuming the laundry room, but hey, problems are everywhere.
I like to look at my reaction to our current plumbing issues as sheer growth. Ten years ago, I’d be so stressed out my mom would have gray hair! Now, I shrug, let the hubs know, and hand him the tools to fix it. See, growth! I like that life still challenges me. Makes sure I have in fact grown as a person. I mean who honestly wants to see a grown women throw a fit because she can’t wash the dishes!
