I could live here. This could be home.

I should start at the beginning.

We signed with a realtor last fall. She is experienced, savvy, super familiar with our neighborhood, and utterly fabulous. But… we signed with her in November. It’s not exactly a busy season for real estate. Thus, we waited.

And waited.

But things were moving behind the scenes. First, rumors in her office of a house which checked all our boxes and was in our preferred location. Information flowed little by little. We got the address confirmed, the bed and bath count confirmed, and the house slowly moved toward the market. We were ready, but still several months away from getting inside–still keeping an eye on the listings.

“Would you like to see that house this week?” our realtor texted us. The sellers had decided not to go to market; instead they wanted a small group of potential buyers to be shown the property. Just a few realtors, a few families. No drama.

I responded to our realtor’s text with a string of exclamation marks. And two days later we were standing on the doorstep of this mysterious house.

Our realtor had warned us that the interior was dated. I was expecting loud wallpaper, scuffed beige linoleum, and multiple colors of carpet. Instead, I found spectacular wallpaper, only two colors of carpet, and a strange lack of linoleum.

I could live here. This could be home.

There was not a single thing I didn’t like about the house. Could there be a little more closet space on the second floor? Sure. Could the garage be a little bigger? Absolutely. The master bedroom is too big (I dislike giant master bedrooms), and there isn’t a good entryway with room for shoes but…

“It’s perfect!” I said as I practically ran through the house doing laps around the realtor and my husband who were both doing responsible things like examining the electrical panel and the boiler. “And spoiler alert: I’m gonna want to put in an offer.”

We put in an offer. We knew they already had another offer on the table so we made ours a really good one. Super good. I was feeling both anxious and confident. Then our realtor called a couple hours later.

“So… kind of a weird update,” she started. It turns out the sellers had decided that it wasn’t about the money, it was about the people.
“They want to meet you and the other potential buyers when they’re in town next week. Get to know you. And then they’ll make their decision.”

My response was basically another string of exclamation marks. We have to go through an interview process?! For this house?! This is like the worst possible scenario for an awkward introvert like me. We can’t just throw money at this problem, we have to throw charm. And I am only good for like twenty minutes of charm in any given day.

But I understand. They’ve been in this house for almost forty years, they’ve maintained it with great care, and they clearly love it. They want to make sure they are passing it on to good stewards who won’t let the roof deteriorate and will take good care of the vintage pink tile in the bathroom.

I get it. I will feel the same way about our house when we go to sell it. When we bought this place the yard was all hostas and weeds, and whenever it rained water would come into the house in seven different places. The basement carpet had been destroyed by a dog, the baseboard radiator covers were held together with duct tape, and the exterior trim was rotting away in all four corners.

We’ve taken good care of this place, for the most part, slowly bringing it back to life over the years. Yes, there are almost always toothpaste blobs in the bathroom sink and Pez under the dining room radiators, but overall we will leave this place in better shape than we found it.

So I get it. I am very nervous for our “interview” this weekend, but I get it. I just hope we can convey our love and respect for the home they’ve built together, and they will recognize that same love and respect in our family.