So, we’re putting the house on the market again, this time for good. David’s had to resort to using either the girls’ room or ours as his office, depending on which has fewer people in it at any given moment, so it’s time. We like our real estate agents, I’m not knocked up, I’m getting more than four hours of sleep at night. No time but the present. No excuses. And, if we sell the darned house before the weather gets warmer, I won’t have a chance to weep the tears of longing into a pool that won’t be ours for much longer.
So, to that end:
There is a poinsettia on the counter, a box of Carnation breakfast mix is in a Target bag on a deck chair (it’s raining), there are bills in various stages of getting paid scattered on the dining room table, there are stuffed animals on all the couches, there is a bathroom baseboard heater that just keeled over and died a horrible death, there are closets stuffed with clothes and a shed bursting with toys, and now there are mangled clementine sections littered on the floor like confetti during a parade of jungle animals. There are fake plants and new throw rugs in places on the exact opposite side of the house of where they’re supposed to be.
The photographer comes on Friday. The listing goes up this weekend. No problem.
At least the carpets are clean.
The kids have told me that my half-jokey-but-really-I-was-seriousness declaration…
We were sitting at lunch the other day when SK found out that her Uncle…