Someone asked me today, “So, do you still have your house for sale?”
“Sort of,” I replied.
Yeah. I said sort of. No wonder my acquaintance looked confused.
I elaborated. “Well, there’s a sign in the yard, but we’re not really acting like we’re trying to move.” Then I made a bunch of noise about not having found a house we like yet and haha there’s so much folded laundry in the bedroom waiting to be put away we’re out of luck if we have a sudden showing and we’ll see what happens.
What I didn’t say is that I’m still working on the landscaping and we’re going to open the pool in a week or two. Or that we’re going to power wash our wide deck this weekend and arrange the outdoor furniture. Or that Saoirse excitedly pointed out a monarch butterfly yesterday that had alighted on a dandelion flower, and we spent the following 15 minutes discussing how nectar is sort of like juice from flowers and it gives food to buttterflies and bees. What I didn’t say is that we’re hemming and hawing, that this is the time of year I love our home, that we’re not being very proactive about selling but still not pulling it off the market entirely, either. Because that all makes us sound as wishy-washy as we’re sort of acting.
You know. Sort of.
It’s funny how all the vim and vigor of making a big decision like this sort of dissipates once you live with it for a while. It’s funny how you let the folded laundry pile up on the coffee table all morning, or decide to go easy on the mess in the playroom just this day because you haven’t had a showing in a while and have gotten lazy. It’s really hard to spend a morning sorting through my “to-do” stack of paperwork without making my usual spread of messiness that lasts for the duration of the process. I lean naturally to messes. I like neat, love neat, feel happy and at peace with the world when everything is tidy, but neat is very hard work for me.
As is selling a house, apparently.