We listed our house for sale yesterday.
It was a monumental, concrete thing that affected all of us. (Well, except Alec. As long as he gets fed, he doesn't care where he's living.) (Which brings me to another heart-pulling realization: Alec will never remember this house. That just kills me.)
The papers were signed, pictures were taken, 30+ boxes of stuff was taken out, framed photos of our babies and our family were removed and kissed goodbye for now, carpets were cleaned, rooms were painted, front doors were spiffed up, and stuff was stashed in the oddest of places and there's a good chance we won 't find some things for weeks.
The most laughable moment was on Sunday night, the eve of the Great Pictures-of-Our-House-Taking Event for the Internet and Therefore All the World to See when Dan lifted up a very cute M&M-shaped candy dish Michaela got on her trip to NYC with her aunt and uncle and said, "Where do we put THIS?" and I said, "I DON'T KNOW! I'M OUT OF HIDING PLACES!"
Turns out the kitchen cabinet is a GREAT hiding place. Duh.
So the listing hit the real estate world at about 8am yesterday, and we had someone on the house looking at it by 2pm that day. And two more scheduled for today. I don't now what this means, but I figure it can't be bad.
The process of showing the house has rendered me a virtual bag lady, living out of my car. All my junk that I don't want cluttering up the house is in a big bucket in my front seat. My calendar, planner, coupons, papers, my toaster oven (which is kind of old and gross), our towels (to reduce the bulk in the bathroom) and our toothbrushes and toothpaste (removed from the bathroom to make it as spa-like as possible) are all on the front seat of my car. And the back seat- yikes! The baby's backpack, the bouncy seat, and the exersaucer and rolling around back there as to not distract potential buyers from the zen of our living and dining room.
The for sale sign also went up yesterday afternoon and that sucker-punched all of us. It just looked so... final. Concrete. Real. Like we were not fooling around any more. After all these years of talking about moving to something bigger and more spacious, dreaming of the perfect place for the five of us to grow into, the idea of really leaving this great place we've called home for the last 10 years was horrible. The place we brought our babies home to. The place where guest rooms became nurseries and little girls' rooms. The place where we put all of our disposable income into. The place we spent hours and hours and hours of time and work and celebrations and birthday parties and family visits and everything you do in your house, your haven from the rest of the world.
Each of us, as we first saw it, felt a little sad. Reading the description of my own house made me think, "Gosh! What a great house! And the location! Why on earth would I want to leave it?"
There is another house out there, about 10 minutes from here, that is perfect for us. And as soon as we go into contract on our house, we are putting in an offer for that one. And I have told Dan that if we get that house, I will lay face down on its huge, vaulted-ceiling-ed family room floor and weep with joy that this is our house. And then I will go into the large walk in closet in the master bedroom and do the same thing. And then I will get into the hot tub off the deck and drink myself silly.
So this is the beginning of the end for us here.
But it's also the start of something new and wonderful and exciting.