Yes, the house did sell.  Closing was last Tuesday, although the funding and finality weren’t ours until Wednesday.

Ten years ago, we bought our first home, and five years later, we sold it to buy this house.  We’ve done a lot of work to this house: replace the termite-eaten wood under the front window, replace the window over the front door, new exterior paint, new roof, a gutter here and there…  By “we,” I mean the men we hired to do these things…or the men the insurance companies hired.  Our personal involvement was more limited: new paint, little fix-it jobs, moldings in the dining room, and the piece de resistance, the built-ins Jason made for the den.

On Tuesday morning, after delivering the boys to school, I did a last walk-through to make sure we hadn’t forgotten anything.  The day before, we’d discovered two kitchen drawers that had been overlooked, and a paintbrush soaking that Jason had used for some touching up.  On Tuesday, there was nothing left.


My stripes are still there, though.  I wish I could have brought them with me.  I’m sure you can’t tell, but they exactly match the stripe in the fabric of the roman shades.  I love doing that: choosing a fabric for a window treatment that draws in the furniture I don’t have the budget to change, then basing every paint color in the house on that piece of fabric.  It’s a simple and fun approach, and it usually turns out stunning.

Painting the stripes certainly wasn’t simple.  It was a true team effort between my parents and us.  I love those stripes.  I was happy and relieved to learn that the new owners love them, too, and they won’t be painted over any time soon.


So where does this leave us?  The boys and I are very comfortably ensconced in (and slowly taking over) my parents’ house.  Mom and Dad rearranged their lives to make room for us, moving offices and beds.  It’s quite a nice arrangement.  Jason heads back to Seattle tomorrow, where he will find a just-right job before sending for us.  The old phrase Dad used to tease me with as I left the house holds entirely new meaning for me now: “Write when you find work.”

We are houseless now, and it feels weird, but we’re not homeless.  No matter what occurs, we can take comfort in the fact that home really is where our hearts are, and our families hold our hearts.

For the time being, however, I still feel mildly unsettled.  I doubt that feeling will abate before we are firmly settled in our own new home, whenever that may be.