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Browsing Tag: real estate

I Mean It This Time

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 desk chair in my living room. It was in the family room, then the girls’ room, and now has migrated there while we wait for the newly-cleaned carpets to dry. Carpets are disgusting. When that much dirt is pulled out of your carpets, it is entirely possible to hear your grandmother tsp-tsking you from heaven with the hand she’s not using to hold a vodka martini (what kind of liquor…

Welcome Home

You know, I was just fine with living in our house. Yeah, it’s small, but hey, that’s less to clean. I’d like a more private, more lush yard, but gosh, we’re so close to everything (and by everything, I mean Target and Wegmans, of course). And, you know, there’s the pool. The POOL. It doesn’t matter that we won’t be able to afford to send our children to summer camp, or piano lessons, or feed them a square meal on days ending with “y” because most of their inheritance has been poured into a new pool liner, various squirrel-attacked covers, and the occasional SCUBA diver to dig glass shards out of the deep end (glass tables and concrete don’t mix, but you could’ve probably told us that already). We liked the light and the character of this house. That, and you get what you get and there’s no use doing anything but accepting what you got. Until we brought Cian home from the hospital nine months ago, that is. That’s pretty much when our house…