Let’s review, shall we? Last week we made an offer on our first choice house and were turned down, and then made an offer on a second house. (Second Choice House is conveniently located next door to First Choice House.) And after a bit of kerfuffle—not to mention the entire weekend—we were also turned down for Second Choice House.
At this point, Otto and I hit the real estate listings and we hit them hard. We found ONE more house that we thought might meet our needs. Otto called his realtor and arranged to see it on Monday afternoon (that’s yesterday).
My phone rang yesterday afternoon. I saw Otto’s number on the caller ID and picked up, full of hope.
“It’s under contract,” he said.
Three strikes. First choice house, second choice house, and last ditch PLEASE GOD HAVE MERCY house, all gone. And the movers are coming to pick up my stuff in about three weeks.
I handled this turn of events with dignity and grace. I kept the sobbing to a dull roar, and apologized profusely to Otto for being such a basketcase. “It’s just—” I gulped between wails, “The kids… and school… and… I just thought—” I had to go get some paper towels to dry off the keyboard so that I could continue my frantic MLS search.
Otto doubtless got off the phone and spent some time pining for his bachelor days.
Then he called me back. To say that First Choice House’s realtor called his realtor to offer a lower price than what they’d claimed as their rock-bottom the previous week when we’d walked away.
It was still a little higher than we wanted to go. So we did the pro/con thing, and went back and forth a bit, and decided to go for it.
So, um, it looks like we’re buying First Choice House. The one with the pool! And the GAZEEEEEBOOOOOOO! And an office. And did I mention the pool?
As I said in an email to someone tonight, it was FATE! Fate, and a lot of tears, and a little bit of Ativan, but mostly fate!
The children and I have been dancing around “claiming” parts of the house. (They also fell in love with it, back when we looked at it on our trip down there.) “My poooooooool!” I declared.
“No, MY pool!” argued Chickadee.
“I want the pool!” chimed in Monkey.
“No, ME! MY POOL!” answered Chickadee.
“Forget you guys, it’s MY POOL,” I scoffed.
“My POND!” cried Monkey. (Oh, did I mention the pond? There’s a pond. Monkey dreams of many tadpole friends.)
“Yes, your pond,” I agreed. “But MY POOOOOOOOOL!”
“My CASINO!” crowed Chickadee.
Monkey cocked an eyebrow at me. I peered at Chickadee.
“Your what?” I asked.
“My…” she faltered, looking back and forth between us. “My casino? The round thing?”
I laughed as I have not been able to laugh for weeks, now. I laughed down to my toes and hugged her tight. “That’s a GAZEBO, honey. A casino is where people go to gamble.”
Her face was on the edge of crumpling; it’s not easy for her to be wrong. I gave her another squeeze and twirled her around in a circle. “But it’s OKAY! Because if you want to play poker in the gazebo, I WILL TEACH YOU!”
I’m such a good mom.
Fortunately, I no longer need to be a good mom. Cuz I’ve got a pool. And a pond. And a casino.
If you need me, I’ll be out shopping for floaties and poker chips. And possibly hiding from my new neighbor, the crazy lady whose house may or may not be for sale.