A move to the country was on the "to-do in the future" list.
Last year was an overwhelming year with 2 small boys, pregnancy, job changes and out of state business meetings for hubby, and baby #3. By October I had a couple months of sleepless nights under my belt. Leif was darling and loved. He also took 5 minute naps , nursed constantly, and fussed unless I was holding him and in motion. Now, I am blessed with healthy boys. And by that I mean weighty. My back thinks it is 80 years old. My point is (there is one, I promise) that I was tired. Mind-numbingly so.
We were out for a Sunday drive one fateful day. Hubby's eagle-eyes spied a For Sale sign on our frequented route. He stops. He takes the little info sheet. Monday he calls. Monday we look at the house and property. Monday we decide that destiny is calling our names. Tuesday morning the realtor looks at our house and asks, "How soon can we put it on the market?" Tuesday afternoon I have an emotional breakdown.
I don't do change. I only plan. Years in advance. I spent my whole childhood in one house. I've spent the majority of my adult life in one house. They want me to sell it. Tomorrow.
The house is full. It's little. Three boys, a chaotic hubby, and myself. The one that is so exhausted she can barely stand. Clean? Well. Um. Nope, not really. And, oh, the stuff! Where would it all go (and who would put it there)? How do you show a house with three kids, 4 and under?
We decided to put an offer on the new place and worry about selling our house after moving. We closed early in December, spent the next few weeks cleaning and painting, and moved the day after Christmas. Let me say this once: I will not move again. Not ever.
Now that the dust has settled (and already coated each and every surface), I feel like I've come home. This is it. Our little piece of earth.