Mr. Anonymous and I had this annual tradition every time our lease was about to expire. He would say, "Let's go buy a house." And I would say, "That is a terrible idea." Then we would spend a few Sundays open-housing in our price range, aka two-story houses in neighborhoods where having a stray bullet graze your forehead was about as common as seeing a bicyclist getting hit by a car. By that I mean, fairly common.
Then Mr. Anonymous would spend 200 hours on Trulia and decide that home buying was not for us. We would resign our lease, and he would resign to living in our third floor berber-rugged poorly-constructed elbow-bumping 500 sq ft apartment (his words not mine). In other words, he would resign to hating life for another 365 days (again, his words not mine).
This past May, I buckled up my ballroom shoes and we stepped into the same song/dance routine we have shuffled along to for the past 3 years. Except this year, we added a few embellishments - a spin here, a promenade there, and a real estate agent named Jamie.
On our first day of looking at houses, I was home with a 102 degree fever. I dragged myself out of bed, washed the vomit out of my mouth, and met with Dan and Jamie across town. The second house we saw was a three-story plus basement. Two blocks east was a fantastic public school. Two blocks west were the best mozzarella balls in the city. It had four bedrooms, a reasonably sized backyard and a mini wooden balcony on the second floor. There were wall to wall green carpets and hilarious signs of DIY home renovation (5-inch loosely attached baseboards, insulation foam in every nook and cranny, ceilings that no one over 5 foot 3 can clear without doing a full fledged limbo walk).
We got half way through looking at the third house on our agenda when I sat down on the floor and said with fervor and fever, "That second house. That is the house. Let's buy that one. Now please take me home before I pee in my pants." Yes, this last statement was said partially out of excitement - because I was fairly certain we had just viewed the house we would one day buy and then fill with 2.5 kids - but it was also said partially because I was about to lose control of my bladder. I was really, really sick.
Fast forward to 6 weeks later. I have regained control of my bodily functions, we have gone through a successful (albeit slightly grueling) home inspection, and we were writing a check for more money than I thought I would ever have, let alone have and then decide to give away. I am sitting there with these folks who make these types of transactions every day and in my head I am screaming "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING SELLING A HOUSE TO ME?? I BLOG ABOUT FARTING AND POOPING AND I BARELY LOOK OLD ENOUGH FOR R-RATED MOVIES AND SERIOUSLY? HAVE YOU READ MY BLOG??"
But in the end, the silent screaming delayed nothing and we walked away with keys to the house that one day would be the house of our dreams, as soon as we removed the wall-to-wall mirrors and forest green carpet. Ok, we skipped a little. But just a little and it was mostly Mr. Anonymous.
We have been "moved in" now for well over a month, and I am not going to lie - the place is a shit show. The phrase "living like refugees" is used at least twice a day in light-hearted conversations. Mr. Anonymous and I take turns feeling overwhelmed by the amount of junk that we (I) have acquired over 5 plus years of cohabitation. He spends his four free minutes a day thinking of new ways to knock out all of the nonload-bearing walls to create bathrooms and/or utility closets. I, in turn, am constantly looking for a bottle opener.
But the other night, my great aunts and uncles (minus Aunt Dot) came over for their first walk through of our new house. Their age ranges from 75 to 87 years of age and their temperaments range from mild to extra spicy. We had an amazing spaghetti/meatball family dinner at Jerry & Alia's and then made our collective way over to the house.
There is just no way to describe having six bubbies and zeydas in your house. The air immediately fills with love and matzoh meal. My Aunt Barb gave me one of my grandfather's paintings of a rabbi and I accidentally placed it upside down in the kitchen. She laughs, "Oy the rehba is upside down! All of the blood is rushing to the rehba's head!" When Mr. Anonymous showed my Uncle Dave the second floor balcony, he says, "Well this is great to have! In case you can't make it to the bathroom in time!"
Up until this point, I had been privately lamenting how I would not be sharing our new house with my own grandparents. I could not imagine taking this big step in my life without them there beside me, filling my shoes with silver dollars and big dreams. I have very vivid memories of their home in the Northeast - the oven (always warm from cooking), the cookie jar (filled with my favorite cookies every Sunday), my grandmother's perfume (I could still smell it in her closet a few days after she died), my grandfather sitting proudly in his chair (spreading advice and care to all who would receive it). Whether I was lounging at my grandfather's feet or in the kitchen futzing with the black and white plastic kitchen tablecloth, there was always a sense of home. Nothing fancy, no big expectations. Just good old fashioned happy home. I wanted to show them that, Look! Look, I got it! I got what you were trying to teach me! Make a happy home! And I did! I made it! Look! Please, look!
This all flooded back to me as everyone reached the third floor. All of my great aunts and uncles stood in our (disaster of a) master bedroom and one by one hugged me and kissed me and wished us luck. Lots of mazels, lots of smeared lipstick on my cheeks, lots and lots of love. And as I fell into their soft embraces and willingly succumbed to their smooches, I realized that, while I did not get to share this directly with my grandparents, I was sharing it by proxy. This evening, I got to have six grandparents beaming at me and saying, Yes, yes we see, we see you heard all that your grandparents were saying to you. Yes, You have done a good job here. They would be proud. They would be so proud.
And it was at that moment - surrounded by my family, my on-loan grandparents - that this very green messy house became a home, our home.
Read More...
Summary only...
