The bank kept their word. We nodded in approval at what was left for us to do. Nothing we couldn’t do with our own bare hands, the 3 of us.
The contract is in place as it was. Papers will be signed within the month I’d imagine. The key will be handed over.
There is still work to do before we can move in, but boxes can trickle in, in the meantime. Then one weekend in July or August a truck will be rented and the bulk will leave here and end there.
I had the option to see if a week ago. I decided against it. Many reasons but the primary is I’m scared. I’m scared I won’t be in love with it. I’ll like it. It’s not here. It has a yard. A park across the street. 3 bedrooms. But not going to lie, I’m more in love with what I’ve heard and seen of the outside than what I’ve heard and seen of the inside. And well, we are in no position to back out. At all. I don’t even want to back out. I’m just scared that second thoughts will lead to irrational thoughts.
I mean the house, now that it’s fixed, is awesome. It’s just not huge. And right now, while the kids are little still, it is plenty big enough. But, my kids are only getting bigger. And the house is not growing with it.
But I need to remind myself that, well, 10 years from now, Thomas will be graduating high school. My kids are growing every day. Growing to take up space. But growing to enter the world and take over their own space, out from under my roof.
Sure, we can live in this house for awhile and then get something even bigger maybe in 5 years. But in 18 years, as my Sammy leaves our nest for college, it’ll just be me and Pat. And for many years that follow, it’ll just be me and Pat. So exactly how much space do we really need in the long run?
So I asked Pat the big question.
While he can’t promise or guarantee, and I’m not asking him to. Does he see us chasing our Grandbabies in that front yard 20 years from now. And he does. And I can house plenty of Grandbabies in those 2, by then spare, bedrooms during weekend retreat to visit Mamaw and Papaw
And while the basement is not a suitable living space now, though perfect for storage, should 15 year old Thomas choose to turn it into a bedroom, one would imagine the funds will be there to make that possible. And a 15-year-old boy will have more open minded living restrictions than a child or an adult wanting to play or sleep there. So no, it isn’t a place for me to sleep. So no, it isn’t a place for the kids to have a playroom. But it very well can be a place for 15-year-old Thomas to escape sharing a room with his brother, once some work has been done. And that’s in 6 years. Surely work can be done between now and 6 years from now.
So my rational mind is just scared. It isn’t really about if this house is perfect. If I will grow old here. It’s more about the fact we are finding the place we very well may choose to grow in. And I’m starting to doubt that being about space, as much as it’s about finality. Because as we faced losing this house, I realized exactly how much I wanted this house.
Just don’t ask me to be brave enough to see it before I step foot in it. Because it’s too late to back out. I don’t want to back out. And once things are final, my rational mind will be better equipped to kick in and kick ass.
No house is perfect. Except ours. Our home will be perfect. And it’s high time I went home.