Ants in My Pants

I am a Military Brat.

When you grow up that way, moving every few years, it makes for certain quirks in your character.

I need to move.

I’ve now lived in this house for over 5 years, longer than I’ve ever lived anywhere. I am itching to pack up and leave and am beginning to hate the house.

Maybe that’s because all those new and lovely things we did to it are beginning to look old, worn, and dilapidated. Maybe it’s just that I am not meant to stay in one place that long. Maybe it’s because we bought a place we knew would be too small for our needs, but it was what we could afford at the time and figured we’d have no issues with trading up. After all, real estate goes up in value, right?

I really want my acre or two of land, my semi-indestructable stone floors, my completely real wood cabinetry, a place out back to put all of hubby’s tools where he can work (instead of having them piled in a closet or strewn about the house), my useable attic…

But instead we have what we have.

I am grateful for it and do feel it was the right choice for us. We are not very far underwater (about the cost of a used car); we’ve never had trouble making payments (even if one of us was out of work); and despite some of our neighbor issues it’s in a lovely little part of town. All of which are blessings not many have today.

So I’ve been on the hunt. I even got so far as putting a bid on a lot. That went about like how I thought it would. The list price was ridiculously low for the area and for the lot in particular (I pass it every day). It was a misprint, the seller rejected my offer, and then they corrected the listing.

But that ten minutes, I was in hog heaven. Dreaming of my 5 acre lot and the splendiferous home we’d be able to afford after buying the land with cash and owning it free and clear.

What brings fear into my heart is the horrible fiasco of selling. Having to keep the house impeccably neat and clean—despite a toddler and two dogs. Having to find a place to put the dogs so no real estate agents get mauled if they decide just to stop by with clients despite the “Appointment Only” status; or maybe just kick the dogs out of the house to roam the neighborhood freely all day. Noticing that “personal items” go missing after Open Houses. And various other drama of home sales.

So here we will likely stay until the market changes.

Now, if only the fates saw fit to have me win the lotto jackpot. Then none of this would matter.