Monday, June 4, 2018

Love the one you're with?

In typical Chiconky Family fashion, we bought the first house we looked at (we looked at others, but we bought the first one.) With a 7 year old, a 4 year old, and a 6 month old, plus an elderly dog who took up almost no space or energy, the huge yard and two living rooms seemed perfect. Perfect enough that I could overlook the lack of a garage or realistic closet. It even had a mother-in-law suite for my parents, should they decide to move in with us. Fast forward five years and all of my people have gotten exponentially bigger, as has their stuff. We said goodbye to one low-key dog and brought home the two hellbeasts. Eli's sweet tiny room now is more Lilliputian than cozy. Sydney is losing her everloving mind trying to share a room with her sister. And damnit. I'm tired of having to purge my closets on a monthly basis because I don't have space for more than six pairs of pants. We currently have THREE IKEA dressers lined up in a row in our bedroom to try to compensate for the lack of a grown-up  closet. Our Christmas decorations reside under the couch in the playroom, which means that they are constantly getting pulled out, even in the heat of summer. I'm really, really tired of re-packing stockings.

The house has other issues. The only thing I didn't want in our house hunt was a galley kitchen, so of course it has a galley kitchen. The entry way is weird and results in this awkward waltz whenever you try to let anyone in. The biggest bedroom we have is 12 x 12. I have to share a bathroom with my entire family and they're  all bigger and smellier than they used to be. And there's no fucking garage, which means that anytime we're working on a project (which is always) C's tools are EVERYWHERE. Namely my kitchen table. *
Our weird entryway. Syd for scale. 

And that's not even bringing in to the equation the shitshow that is my neighbors. I'm 99% certain they're running a 24/hour (or really just middle of the night) mechanic's shop in the driveway. Shit you not, they have a tow truck drop off a car in the middle of the night at least once a week. Yesterday I had to help push a woman's car off my front lawn because she doesn't have reverse and "thought she could make it."

BUT. Our mortgage is stupidly affordable and we aren't the greatest with a tight budget. We refinished the original floors ourselves, with a baby strapped to my back. Our sweet next door neighbors love us. They let us have free access to their pool. Our yard is awesome and we've put a lot of work into it. Houses are expensive. Moving sucks monkey ass. And it hasn't gone unnoticed by me that I tend to deal with hard feelings (i.e. my dad died and it still sucks) by making large life choices or getting tattoos. And I don't have a good tattoo idea right now.

In black and white, it does seem like moving is not the most irrational idea I've had this week. Both C and I are certain that this is not our "grow old" house. So then, why is it so hard to actually set the pieces in motion? I've drafted a casual, test the waters e-mail to our realtor three times but never push send. Similarly though, I haven't called the contractor I found to ask about remodeling the kitchen.

I need someone to come adult for me. Do we stay? Or do we move into a bigger, better, more expensive house now that we're wiser and less impulsive (HA!)?

*I know. This is the epitome of first world problems.

1 comment:

  1. Can you explore some homes for sale and do a reality check? :-)

    Your reader,

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