And now for something completely different:
Sorry, just needed a little primal scream therapy. I feel better now. It’s March (finally), the sun is shining, I abound in blessings, and life is good. Breathe in, breathe out. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Our house has been on the market for almost two weeks now and we’ve had several showings. They’re a necessary evil, as it’s really tough for someone to want to buy a house sight-unseen. But keeping the house 30 minutes from perfection (or, as happened on Saturday, ten minutes from perfection), is taking a toll. Get the lights on, run the vacuum, get the dog to the sitter, push in the chairs, fluff the pillows, stash the dishes in the garage in the special box labeled Emergency Dishes Box (no, not kidding), say a prayer, dash out the door.
And we wait. I’m an impatient bitch.
We wait for an offer, we wait for Tom to check out houses in Chicago, we wait to pack, we wait we wait we wait.
The bits of feedback we’ve gotten from realtors concern not the price nor the structure, but the elementary school behind us. The one that ensures for all time that there will never be neighbors back there or anything blocking the gorgeous mountain view. So, to review:
Here’s what an elementary school is: a place of learning for children between the ages of 5 and 10.
Here’s what an elementary school is not: a nuclear power plant, a SuperFund site, a corn-syrup processing plant (we once lived in a town that had one and fought the urge to vomit daily), or a slaughterhouse.
That has been your Home Selling PSA of the Day.
Now back to the regularly scheduled “Wait For The Phone To Ring With A Showing Or An Offer” program already in progress.