The Perfect House

Jeff and I move a lot. A LOT. We’ve been in our current house a whopping two and a half years and that’s the longest we’ve ever lasted in a place. The shortest was a mere six months, with a nine monther thrown in there too. Everybody we know thinks we’re crazy, and I’m beginning to think they’re right.

Moving used to be fun. Back in the day when there was money to be made with real estate and no children to pack up, it was a blast. We’d buy a place, make some improvements and move on. I consider myself a professional-grade packer and mover by now, and found it a challenge to unpack and decorate in a few days. It was exciting and thrilling and we loved it. Back in the day.

These days, it just plain sucks. The last two houses we owned took us forever to sell and we took a loss on both. Each was full of stress and disappointment and financial burden. The house we’re in now was always meant to be a transition house to get us back into the area before we decided on where to settle down. It’s not the right neighborhood for us and I’m anxious to put some roots down in the right place, this being far from it.

Now that we’re looking at a forever house, or at least a long-term house, it’s so much more complicated. Four or five bedrooms, a decent yard for the kids to play in, public schools that we’re comfortable with and a price tag we can afford. It’s almost impossible. Except, last weekend, we found it: The perfect house. A beautiful staircase, just like I’d always imagined. Shingles and shutters and glass detail on the door. A Jack and Jill bathroom for the kids, a sunny family room and the charm I crave. It was perfect.

Unfortunately, it was also perfect for the couple that will be moving in next month. The couple who didn’t have a house to sell first. The couple whose financing I am evilly hoping will suddenly fall through, allowing us to live in the house I can’t stop thinking about.

Our house.