Three mornings in a row we’ve had showings at our house.
I’m super grateful, (The Bozeman market is cray-cray, it’s like 2004 up in here!) but three mornings in a row have found me refusing to cook my family breakfast, for fear of offending aromas.
Poor Husband, we are breakfast people (hence the backyard chickens), and he’s been rocking cold greek yogurt all week to start his busy work-days. “You can bring home the bacon but don’t you dare fry it up!”
As I write, I’m holed up in the Sexy Minivan with three children, two guinea pigs and one freaked out feline while prospective buyers tour our house. We are parked in front of a gorgeous frozen pond and I’ve just realized my yoga pants are inside out. It’s also worth mentioning that our coffee machine died yesterday. A moment of silence, please…
I sure hope someone puts pen to paper soon, because I’m not sure how long I can keep up the Suzie Homemaker charade. Soon as it’s under contract, I won’t be cleaning again until we vacate.
As far as our future plans, we seriously considered the full-time RV tour of the US, but have since located a new home locally that gives us more elbow room, inside and out. (Though I’m STILL a fan of the small house movement!) Everything is hinging on the sale of our current home, though, as we have zero interest in being landlords again for a good, long while. Perhaps never?
Last night I passed out from sheer exhaustion after prepping the house (scouring, staging, corralling pets and children alike) for the Realtor tour, Handsome Hubs procured me a Dr. Pepper (don’t judge) and I collapsed in front of the television. Instead of reading or writing, I just wanted to give my brain a rest, and landed on The Joy Luck Club, of all films. Heavens, why did no one warn me? I’d obviously never seen the film, nor read the book, and it slayed me. I bawled my eyes out for every mother in China, including one in particular whose face I’ve only ever seen in the son we share.
All this to say, if you happen to encounter me in person– watch out. I’m tired, uncaffeinated, and emotional. And officially sorry to all my past home-sellers for being a slave-driver about staging your properties.
Someone buy my house.