Forgive me readers, for I have sinned. It has been 17 days since I last blogged.
September has been a whirlwind month. I honestly don’t know where the time has gone. Since the beginning of September, I started a great boot camp class. For one hour, three days a week, I basically get my ass kicked into shape. I really enjoy it, actually. And I’ve lost almost two inches on every measurement in this short time. I’d like to keep going, but I’m not sure we can afford it because … we got that house!
Yes! We got it after all. Apparently, the guy who put an offer on it the same day we did ended up pulling his offer. He bought the house for his ‘significant other’ who didn’t like it at all. You see, he also put an offer on another house which he/she liked much more so he bought that one instead.
Are you effing kidding me? Who does that? In Houston?
Whatever. Either way, we are getting a rocking house for next to nothing because Fannie Mae owned it and it was on the market for 565 days total. And it’s beautiful.
The downside is that now we have to move. As someone who has moved close to 100 times in my childhood, moving gives me great anxiety. I am, however, a pro at this whole moving thing. But the rub lies in the fact that we close in 19 days and I have only managed to pack two boxes. Two boxes out of the probably 200 it will take to pack up all of our crap. I’m ok with that, though.
I’m ok with it because it is a new chapter in our lives. We have had a rough go of it the past few years and we need a fresh start. Even though we are just moving nine miles south (and closer to the hurricanes, mind you) it is a change. We will have room to spread out. Room to entertain. Room to breathe. And while we are a close little family, I think the space will help keep us sane. I hope. The house is pretty large, but it feels cozy to me. Once we get it filled with our pictures and furniture and spirits it will be our home.
You see, hubby and I both came from broken homes. And that is an understatement. The chaos of our respective childhoods gave way to struggling adolescence and uncertain young adulthoods. Between my getting married way too young (and painfully divorced 18 months later) to his living in his car during his senior year and both of us joining the Air Force to survive, we have come a long way.
We want to relish our success and actually be proud of ourselves for once rather than hiding it for fear of judgement. Or fear of failure. Our success is just that, ours. No one has ever helped us. Parents, friends, other family – no one. Everything we have ever done has been ours alone. And while I am a bit jealous that other people I know get handouts from their parents or financial help buying houses or big screen TVs for Christmas, I am proud of the fact that we have succeeded in doing all of these things alone. Just the two of us. I hope that I am able to pass this value on to Ava. That being self-made, although it can be a tough road, is so very satisfying and commendable. But I have to keep from spoiling her in the interim.