Re: wants to buy a house

Matthew will roll his eyes when he reads this one. I am itchy. Itchy all over, and it's not fleas... well, it's not all fleas. Before we had kids, I was always in the middle of some thing-or-other. Always had a little project(s) floating around the house; sticky notes with ideas I'd thought of while not paying attention class were a staple surrounding my computer monitor. Home improvement, decorations, organization tactics, Martha Stewart--all.of.it. Before pinterest.com, I had a folder on my computer with googled photos of all the things I wanted to do someday, of all the things I could do (slightly modified) because we rent.

Now, I have been known to get itchy from time to time--I may or may not have moved our (then two-person, two-dog) family not once, not twice but thrice when we were in Boise. That's two years in on-campus housing; I got a puppy, so we moved. One year in that pet-friendly apartment; I thought my puppy would like a buddy, so I got another puppy. I thought my two puppies would like a fenced yard, so we moved again. Four months in a 1000-square-foot house on a 10,000-square-foot plot (yes, HUGE (goathead-covered) backyard), and Matt was offered a job here, in the almost Great White North. It's been two years in this 950-square foot duplex. We have subtracted one dog but gained two kids, and the itch is at it again. Generally, moving the furniture around scratches it for me. The recent renovations to the upstairs are still satisfactory, although my tornado-child can't stand to leave her books on the shelf or her toys in the bins and there seems to be a perpetual carpet of laundry up there. The downstairs is causing the itch. The furniture is in the best place. There is no way to move the walls of the kitchen to make it fit one and a half people (Aurelia likes to stand as squarely in the middle of the galley as she can). The living room serves as an office and the place where the couch lives (which I think is how Matthew wants it, but he has no idea what's in store when we have more space). Admittedly, we have too many knick-knacks, but displays of vintage cameras are always cool right? And my desk and the surrounding areas could probably use a good grooming.

Regardless, the fact remains. This place is too small, and I like projects far too much to rent any longer. The solution: buy Mama a house.

Matt's eyes are still rolling because we had a very grown-up, very rational discussion about staying here for another year-ish, saving up, waiting to see if we're going to be staying in this town for more than two years, paying off a bit more debt. It all makes so much sense, but it doesn't stop me itching. It doesn't stop me tripping over toys in the common area (slash play area slash living room slash office slash diaper changing floor) or cooking a meal on two square feet of counter space or cringing every time the damn neighbor-lady slams her door shut, hoping it won't wake the kids this time. It doesn't stop me from pinning (on pinterest) photos of beautiful kitchen remodels or dream bathrooms or crisp, clean family rooms with high ceilings and big windows.


Feel my pain, if you can.

Now, I'm off to (finally) work on holiday decorations and cards.