It happened. We sold our house yesterday, after more than 30 showings.
I’m still in shock. Just. Wow.
I should mention our 6-month contract with the realtor expired yesterday. We got the offer on Christmas Eve, a very lowball offer, and countered yesterday. The buyers liked what they saw. They signed it all, no exceptions taken.
We owned several cats over the last 10 years. Our beloved tortoiseshell Rita, who died soon after we moved, then Max and Stuart (one died from eating a Nerf dart, one ran away), ending up with the dynamic duo of Rex and Chloe. We let them live on.
I am a little sad. This house has been good to us. Ruby doesn’t remember living anywhere else. She learned to talk here. She surfed down the red-carpeted stairs with her chums. Zac had Nerf wars here. He got his first computer and made friends with the boy across the street. Jonathon earned his doctorate here, in the upstairs study/guest bedroom. He works from home now, using his degree and improving education for the online university who employs him.
And me? I grew up here, too. I learned to be less selfish and open our home to passels of small children. First Zac’s gang of little boys, then Ruby’s of little girls. We hosted a monthly group of church of folks 35-50 years old for a bit. We had family and friends over, too. I discovered I like cooking for people. Our L-shaped living room proved challenging at times, but also unique. I became a better housekeeper. I also got comfortable with a bit more mess as part of living with creative people. I embraced writing here. I got into running in a big way, and found it – dare I say it? – fun.
The biggest takeaway for me is that here, finally, I learned to choose joy and to focus on the good things going on here and now. Believe me, sweet readers, that was no easy feat. I still struggle with it sometimes. I started to figure out who I am in Christ, and nobody can take that from me, nor all the great memories stored in our hearts. Not even the sale of our family home.