Friday, April 16, 2010

Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?

I love this house. I do.

See how it seems to be looking at you? Like the dormer windows are checking you out and the chimney is a raised eyebrow and the white railing of the porch is like a crooked smile? Yeah, I see it, too.

My husband grew up here and we were married here - I'm sure I'm boring you because I've probably told you this story a zillion times already - and now we're selling it. It's a good decision, and it will allow us to move to an area that we are enchanted with. It doesn't make it any easier.

I had a fantasy that we'd sell it to a family, one that is as quirky as ours, that could appreciate the charm of a 60-year-old house, the suburban street, the kids playing on the lawn in the summer sunsets, the adorable novelty of actually running across the street to borrow a cup of sugar from Dick and Vega (my beloved neighbors). I dreamed that they would quickly become fixtures at the annual persimmon party and stroll their kids around the block the way that we did. Their kids (the ones in this dream family) would learn to ride 2-wheeler bikes on the street in front of the house like mine did and swing for hours on the sturdy steel swingset with friends. And their summers would be filled with pool parties and BBQs, just like ours.

Okay, so you know where this is going. Our buyers do not have kids. They are not from the Valley. They don't give a sh*& that we have a history in this house. They asked for a credit because we share a zip code with another city that is "less desirable" than the one on our address (no, really). They asked that we not be present during the inspection because they did not want our "song and dance" (this is what my husband told me - and I have a feeling he was being kind in his paraphrasing to spare my feelings). The entire process has been excruciating and I can't help but feel like I am giving this house away to wolves.

Is that my lesson? Are they just pushing us away in a most disgusting, rude manner so that we can turn away and not look back? Or is it really just a "thing," this house I love, and merely a temporary container for the love that we've incubated here?


  1. Oh, honey. That must be so hard. But I'm going to try and spin it anyway. I think 1) they are trying to sound tough because they are trying to protect themselves. They're afraid to show too much love for the house. 2) your love and joy has filled those rooms. Maybe once they get settled, they will fill it. Maybe they will start having those same dreams from the memories you leave behind. Or maybe they will flip it and the "rightful" new owners will be the dream family.

  2. You know what, April? I really needed that dose of reality and perception - thank you so much! I feel a burden lifting...! xoxoxo

  3. Oh Erin, I'm sorry the sellers are not your dream sellers, but I think your friend, April, above is spot on. Your home is wherever you & family are. "Joy is not in things: it is in us." I completely understand your feelings, too - I'm pretty attached to this old house we live in. But when I moved here, I thought how hard it would be to leave my old house, but that's how I feel about where I'm at now.