The Perfect House

About a month ago, we went on our first house-hunting expedition. To be frank, it was kind of half-assed. We hadn't finished painting and updating our condo yet, much less listed it, so we knew we weren't going to be buying anything for a while.

Fast-forward a few weeks, and suddenly our house is under contract, and in a month we won't have anywhere to live. Suddenly, house-hunting takes on a more urgent tone.

On Monday, we went to look at three houses. All were okay. But they all had drawbacks we weren't sure we wanted to take on. We've found some that look good online, but they've gotten snapped up before we could even go see them, much less submit an offer.
 
I was beginning to ever despair of finding our perfect house, a house to spread out a little, take a deep breath, and eventually start a family. This has caused me to shift my thinking.

I know, in my heart, that there is no such thing as the "perfect" house. We are going to find a house with a bigger kitchen, a bigger bathroom, a fenced-in yard for Luna, and minus a squawking, thumping old bat of a neighbor. But we'll never find the "perfect" house.
 
Because it's not a perfect house until there's a black lab curled up on the sofa, snoring like a buzzsaw.
 
It's not a perfect house until someone (cough, me) has books scattered on bookcases, bedside tables, kitchen tables, end tables, coffee tables, countertops, chairs, and sometimes the stairs and/or floor.
 
It's not a perfect house until there's a water bottle in the fridge with merely a thimbleful of water left in it (cough, also me). This seriously irritates the other human in the house.
 
It's not a perfect house until someone has spilled a container of marinara sauce on the sofa (still me).

It's not a perfect house until there are several pairs of size 11 men's shoes on the floor to trip over, and pajamas or sweatpants wadded up on the floor beside the bed.
 
It's not a perfect house until there's football, basketball, golf, Alaska: The Last Frontier, Gold Rush, Impractical Jokers, or Property Brothers on TV - usually all at once, flipping between the channels (sigh).
 
It's not a perfect house until there's a dirty pot in the sink that no one wants to wash, a bed that's only half-made, dog fur collecting in the corner of the molding, a stain on the tablecloth from someone's hastily eaten dinner, and a package on the front stoop from someone's Amazon book-buying spree (three guesses who's responsible for that).

Because until all those things happen, it's just a house. Sure, it can even be a beautiful house. But it's still just a house. Once you add the dog, the books, and even a little mess - well, then it's a home. It's our home. And I fully believe you can have a perfect home. Wherever B, Luna, and I are together is a perfect home to me.
 
And once I changed my thought process, suddenly a pretty nice house appeared on our email alert list. It had all the major things we wanted: four bedrooms, an open, good-sized kitchen, a two-car garage, a huge fenced backyard, and a walk-in closet, and all well within our budget. Plus, other fun amenities such as a gas burning fireplace, granite countertops, and a badass master suite with a perfect bathtub for enjoying all those books I ordered. It's in a nice neighborhood within walking distance of a nice park.

So yesterday we put an offer in. We find out later today if it was accepted. Again, if you're at all the praying type, please lift one up. No house is perfect, but we know we could make this one a pretty perfect home. This past week has been crazy beyond belief, but hopefully it'll be all worth it soon. We'll keep you posted.
 
xoxo,
E & B