Marble Halls and True Israelites

We didn’t end up with marble halls in our living room, but we had our fair share of diamond sunbursts and, at the end of the day, we just wanted blue.

The long-awaited painting of our living room, hallway, and staircase was scheduled for this past week of vacation. Thankfully we had help from my brothers and my parents in order to get the work done in good time and without too much cursing. It would probably be bad luck if I cursed our living room as much as I cursed our bedroom during our last painting extravaganza.

The painting project began when mom and I left work on Friday to go to Home Depot to buy the paint. I had narrowed the choices down to three blues: Clear Vista, Carefree Skies, and Promise Keepers. After 45 minutes re-examining the color swatches in Home Depot we ended up with an entirely new color altogether: Clear Water. We chose this color by my mother holding the cards up in the light from the garden department and me squinting at it without knowing which color name it was. This method, while confusing to other customers, was very successful.

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On Saturday I moved everything out of the living room except for the couch and the piano. I took all the pictures off the walls, washed them down with warm, soapy water [I also inadvertently washed out my eyes] and filled in all of the little holes in the wall with spackle. I also filled in the larger holes in the wall left by the former owners. It looks to me like they attempted to drag furniture down the hallway without turning it sideways and left gashes in the wall – looking much like a deer sharpening it’s antlers. I know this is rather farfetched but, “when you are imagining, you might as well imagine something worthwhile.”

Sunday was a day of rest. And a day of staring at the walls, while holding up the paint swatches, and allowing my imagination to run away with me. I decided, much like Anne [you know, of Green Gables fame], that Clear Water was a truly boring color name. It will henceforth be named “The Blue of the Lake of Shining Waters.”

I then decided that I would make a patch out of spare drywall to fill the hole in our wall where the former owners ripped out a thermostat. I used three kitchen knives, a tape measure, a straight-edge, and a proficient amount of second-guessing myself. Eventually I ended up, through trial and error, with a piece of board small enough to fit in the hole, but big enough not to fall out the other side. I was not able to work out a way to attach the piece into the wall. I decided I would leave that mission until tomorrow, for “tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it.”

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On Monday, bright and early, the painting began. Painting on this day was done to the playlist “Chuffed” which is a Northern Ireland word meaning “warm and fuzzy happy feelings inside.” Littlest Little Brother and my mother were in attendance, and we began by putting a coat of sealant on the trim. At this point we realized that when you paint the trim above the door you look remarkably akin to an Israelite painting the door posts of his home with the blood of a lamb to prevent the entrance of the Angel of Death. From this point onward all door-trim painters will be known as True Israelites and are entitled to all the rights and privileges thereof. [For those of you unfamiliar with this Bible story you may refer to Exodus 12 or your handy video-cassette of The Prince of Egypt]

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The worst part of painting, as I am sure you will agree, is the preparation to paint. The coat of sealant was the only painting we completed on Monday because so much time was taken by taping up the carpet, the door handles, the trim, and the window-panes. My dad came and painted the sealant of the built-in shelves. We should put a picture of him on the shelves in celebration of his work.

On Monday night we celebrated by trying out the non-pizza food of the new local pizza place and watching the first half of Anne of Green Gables. To say that tears were not shed would be a lie. When Marilla told Anne that she could stay at Green Gables my brothers cheered and hugged.

Perhaps the paint fumes were getting to us. Perhaps there was something in the calzones. Perhaps there’s something about Anne.

On Tuesday, Mom, Littlest Little Brother, Biggest Little Brother, Husband, Father, and Me all painted. We started [as each was able] and went from 8 – 5. On this day we were accompanied by the tunes of the 80s. Events included frequent validations of our True Israelite status, impromptu hall-way dances to “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun,” and falls into the “depths of despair” when Almond Cream drips settled onto the Blue-Gray carpet or into our hair.

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Mom and I under no circumstances followed everyone else around with our paintbrushes to finish their previously finished doors. We aren’t fussy or perfectionists at all. We did not instruct Littlest Little Brother on the correct method to put paint on a brush or the correct way to stick tape onto the floor.

At the end of Tuesday’s painting we had completed the second coat of Almond Cream and all of the trim was finished. Words could not express our joy.

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Wednesday morning dawned bright and windy. Impatiently and excitedly Mom and I opened The Blue of the Lake of Shining Waters. Mom did the “cutting-in” by the ceiling and I did the edging by the floor. We filled in the middle with the paint rollers. At this point we sent panicked texts to my Father to ask him to pick up another gallon of paint. The Blue of the Lake of Shining Waters did not go quite as far as we had expected.

Additionally we realized that we were not giants, nor Mr. Fantastic, and could not stretch to reach the top of the wall on the stairs. We tried to balance planks on our stepladder, but they were too short to reach the top of the stairs. Our lives were “perfect graveyards of buried hopes.” And we had to paint only up to the edges by the stairs.

At times when the paint went on the wall it looked white. At other times it looked brighter than the brightest color on the color cards. We hoped that when it grew up it would be a “real nice auburn” [that is to say, blue].

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By the end of Wednesday we had completed our painting [the stairs aside] and it was lovely. We, accompanied by the strains of popular Disney songs, did two coats and then touched-up around the trim to get rid of any accidental drip-marks of blue where it was not welcome.

On Thursday I slept in. Then my husband and I moved the furniture back into the room. We tried various configurations and [because the piano weighs 435,565,359 tons] we settled on the one that required it to move the shortest distance.

Friday was made of grocery shopping, laundry, and pizza. The second half of Anne of Green Gables was watched. When [SPOILER ALERT] Matthew died tears were shed, shamelessly.

On Saturday my mother and I went to one of our favorite places: T J Maxx. We got curtains. What a simple sentence that was, “We got curtains” – what actually happened was a 1.5 hour trip to the Home Goods department where we had in our carts, at one point, 4 different styles of curtains. We narrowed it to two piles of room-décor stuff and, after much deliberation, calculation, measuring, hemming and hawing, and over-chair-draping we decided on one of the piles.

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I will [for the sake of time] gloss over the 2 hour event that was the measuring, drilling, assembling, ironing, hanging, and rearranging on the curtains and leave you with a picture of the final result. “I know I chatter on far too much . . . but if you only knew how many things I want to say and don’t – give me some credit!”

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At Home in the Depot

Prior to purchasing a house my average trip to Home Depot lasted about 3 minutes. It was typically a mad dash to the snow-shovel or light-blub department and a quick self-checkout. I would then recover from the dreaded visit with a double-shot latte and a large oatmeal chocolate chip cookie.

I would spend the rest of the day complaining about how the big-box-store air dried my contacts out and the bright lights gave me a headache.

I would spend extra money at local, smaller stores, just to avoid going inside.

No more.

I went to Home Depot and Lowes three times this past weekend. I perused many aisles. I took photos of things to send to my husband. I did multiplication and square-footages estimates on my cell phone. I drove through the parking lot slowly so that I could see the prices of things placed outside Home Depot. Then I went to Lowes and took more photos and stood staring at samples for 35 minutes. Then I went back to Home Depot and looked at their samples and did more multiplication.

Then I went home and went on lowes.com and homedepot.com and put things in baskets.

I am planning our next painting adventure. Our living room and hallway are currently a half-hearted shade of mustard. It is as though the previous owner wanted to paint the living room yellow but didn’t quite have the guts to do it properly and settled for a not-quite-so-yellow compromise. They also seem to have run out of paint halfway up the stairs. You can see where they rolled the paint roller and then where they gave up on rolling.

I will be painting the living room, stairs, and hallway a lovely blue color that has yet to be determined. My recent trip to Home Depot [along with my long-suffering mother] was to acquire paint cards to stick up and around the room. The colors vary in loveliness from “Afternoon Siesta Blue” to “Hazy Seacliff Teal” and “Ionic Sky.”

While at Home Depot we almost purchased kitchen tile, laminate wood flooring, a lawn mower, a shed, bushes, and counter-tops [this blog entry does not even include the trip we made to TJ Maxx the same day where I almost purchased three sets of curtains, five paintings, and a large assortment of throw pillows].

I should set up some sort of deal with our bank where I am not able to spend more than an allotted sum of money on any given trip to Home Depot or Lowes without adult supervision. It is my grown-up version of a candy store.

[Let’s be honest, though, I would behave exactly the same way in a candy store]

Tune in sometime after April Vacation to read about our upcoming escapades with the blue paint in the living room! I will count this décor-spree a success if I manage to paint the entire room without getting any paint in my eyebrows.

Blues!

Dresser Woes [Or, The Night that Netflix Won]

Yesterday I tried to build a dresser. It was going to be wonderful. I had this great plan. I even tweeted about it. I told people at work about my plan.

Thursdays are the day that my husband doesn’t get home until late, so I thought I’d build the dresser and put all the clothes in it, instead of their current position on the floor in piles [or not in piles, as the case may be], and set up the new bedside lamps and put pictures on the walls [which have been blank since my recent painting extravaganza]. Then, when my husband got home, I would surprise him. Oh, it was a lovely plan!

Being proficient in DIY is an important part of owning your own home. I thought to myself, what better way to practice DIYing than to DIY a dresser all by myself on a school night before dinner.

The first step to building any dresser is opening the box. I tried to move the box into a convenient opening and building location. It was too heavy. I thus decided to build the dresser in the living room, blocking the entrance from the kitchen to any part of the house. It would be built by the time anyone needed to access a bathroom, right?

I searched for our box-cutter, but when I came upon a steak knife first I decided that it was more than sufficient for opening the box. When I opened the box it contained all the pieces in a color much darker than I had expected – so dark, in fact, that I might decide not to paint it after all. I also decided not to use that steak knife for eating steak ever, ever again. The box did not seem like it came from a frequently cleaned warehouse.

There were approximately 543,459,305.21 nails and screws and other screw-like things and those special screwy things into which you screw screws. They were itemized in 14 languages on a piece of paper that contained 20 deceptively simple looking steps to build a dresser.

I couldn’t find a hammer, which the pictures strongly recommended, but I thought that the back end of my Phillips Head screwdriver would work just fine. It was heavy. I could hold on to the screwing part and swing it like a hammer.

One of the first steps included hammering little plastic pieces that are used to make the drawer slide in-and-out into the wood of the drawer. My screwdriver was insufficient. I narrowly missed my fingers several times and so I spent an additional 30 minutes searching the house for the hammer. I found it in the kitchen drawer where I had tidied it after I had last done household fixer-uppering.

After 15 minutes of very loud hammering the first step was done. 1 down, 19 to go! Then it came time to screw the front part of the drawers into the side pieces of the drawers. The picture of the screws that I was supposed to use looked like no screws I was in possession of, and so I took a guess and started screwing. Forty minutes and two blisters later I was done with the left side of the drawers. I couldn’t figure out how to make our special screwdriver go “righty-tighty” as opposed to “lefty loosey” and so I had to use the regular screwdriver and, at one point, nearly poked my eye out while rearranging my wayward pony-tail.

The next step also called for unidentifiable screws. Eventually, after much measuring and deliberation and comparison, I chose a screw and started to try to put it where it was supposed to go. I screwed it [despite my blisters] and it would not screw. I tried hammering it on the top a little and it would not hammer. I tried fitting the other options into the hole and they either disappeared or wouldn’t fit. I tried cursing the screws. I tried cursing the screwdriver. Neither was intimidated into fulfilling my request.

At this point my husband arrived home to quickly change his clothes before heading out again. My brother was riding with him. I’d been working on the dresser for over 2 hours.

They entered a house to see me, grumpily, sitting on the floor trying to force several different screws into several different holes with several different screwdrivers. I [in high-pitched tones] informed them of my troubles with the hammer, and my plan about the pictures on the walls, and I [tearfully] demonstrated to them the actions of the rebellious screws.

Then I moved all the pieces of the dresser to lean against the wall and made myself a bowl of pasta in alfredo sauce and watched Netflix.

Adventures in Painting

Last week I had vacation from work and I made great big plans to decorate our bedroom. Our house is lovely, don’t get me wrong, but it hasn’t been decorated since what must be 1985. Our house was built in 1989. But. There you go.

It has matte-stained mahogany-colored doors and trim throughout. Our bedroom was [poorly] painted a crisp, cold white.

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I made big plans for a tan/green/gold bedroom. I pinned a thousand pins on pinterest. I picked up a thousand color cards at Lowes and Home Depot and Sherwin Williams. I held them up to the wall and squinted at them.

I made plans to paint all the trim in the whole house a warm shade of white. I thought that choosing white would be one of the easier choices – white is white, right? Nope. When I picked up some samples at my local home-décor stores I ended up with colors which all looked relatively similar to me, and sported elegant names. Eventually it came down to a choice between Cloud White and Almond Cream. I abandoned Antique White, Oyster, and Snow. I thought I’d made an excellent choice, but after waiting in line at the counter for 10 minutes I looked at the Cloud White again and ran back to get Almond Cream. It just seemed much more delicious.

While at the counter getting our gallon of trim, gallon of walls, and gallon of old-trim-sealant, the older lady behind the desk asked my mother and I if we were sisters. At first I felt flattered for my mom. But, later, I started thinking. What if it wasn’t a compliment to my mom, what if it was an insult to me? Do I look old enough to be my own mother? Was choosing whites really that detrimental to my health? I knew buying a house would make me feel like a grown-up, I didn’t know it would make me look like one too.

[FYI – my mom looks significantly younger than she really is – I can only hope I age like her!]

And the evening and the morning were the first day of the painting project.

On Tuesday my mother [who had agreed to “get me started” with the painting] and I woke up bright and early and put on old clothes. I moved everything I could out of our bedroom and put it in neat [ish] piles on our guest room floor.

Then the painting began.

We started with the trim, as the online advisors were divided on the best place to begin, and we felt overwhelmed because there was so much of it – all to be painted with a coat of sealant and 2 coats of Almond Cream.

We were moving along at a daring pace when my knees started to get a little sore. I thought to myself that I’d just slide over and sit on my patootie for awhile while I painted the bottom of a door. I slid, I sat, and my knee popped out. I heard it pop. I felt it squish and pop. I was paralyzed with fear and pain. My mom encouraged me to straighten my leg at inch-wide intervals. I tried, but I cried. My mom tried to help me stand up so that gravity could help with the straightening. I tried, but I cried again.

At this point I had visions of half-sealed bedroom trim being abandoned whilst I was checked into the nearest knee-specializing hospital. I envisioned knee-replacement surgery in my not-too-distant future. Maybe the woman selling us the paint had been a prophetess about my age?

Tim arrived home in the middle of my knee distress. He and mom together lifted me up and, after a few minutes of encouragement, and some help from gravity, my knee popped back in to position. Crisis averted.

And with a coat of sealant and a coat of Almond Cream, the evening and the morning were the second day.

I awoke at 5:45 on Wednesday morning, on the couch [since our bed was covered in paint-drop sheets], and every bone in my body ached. My knee sported a lovely gray-blue hue, not unlike the shade I eventually plan to paint our living room and hallway.

I painted from 6:00am to 4:00pm on that day. I finished the first coat of trim and completed the second coat of trim. I taped the edging with blue tape to protect the hardwood floor. When I pulled up the tape it turned out that a large portion of Almond Cream had run under the tape and dried on the floor. The last several hours of daylight were spent in a sort of downward dog yoga position with a box cutter, carefully scratching the paint off the floor without scratching the floor off too.

At this point I paused with my damp cloth to wipe several footprints off the floor from where I’d stepped in a drop of paint and walked it across the room.

At this point not a few curses were uttered.

And the evening and the morning and the cursing and the scraping were the third day.

On Thursday morning I was up early with my gallon of Plateau [a warm beige-tan color] and planned to do the first coat before lunch and the second coat after lunch. Future me chuckles when I remember the innocence of past me.

I began with a nice, blank, empty wall. I thought I’d start at the corner and practice my “cutting in” before I tried it for real by the ceiling. It seemed to go well.

At this point let me take a moment to tell you about my step-ladder. It is made of metal. The top step is 6 inches wide and slopes to the left at a 45 degree angle. There are edges that will pinch your toes. It will randomly drop clumps of dirt on the floor, even though it looks clean from the outside. At times, when you climb to the top, it will suddenly slope to a harsher, more acute angle. You will pray your final prayers, your heart will leap to your throat, you will regret that you didn’t get to see how Plateau looked on your walls before you kicked the proverbial [paint] bucket.

Once perched atop the ladder of death I began, carefully, “cutting in” where the wall met the ceiling. More paint went on the ceiling than on the wall. Drips fell on my face and dribbled down my wrist into my sleeve. I muttered under my breath and tried a narrower brush. More paint went on the ceiling. I began sniffling.

Eventually I painted the entire edge of the wall with a ¼ inch wide brush that I’d bought to paint on small canvases when I was in high school. It looked like crap [there are stronger words, but this is a family show]. When my husband arrived home from work [and painted the rest of the walls with the roller] I burst into tears and cursed the day when I thought I could paint a bedroom.

On this day I had to stop early to cook food. Because, you know, painting is hungry work.

And the evening and the morning and the dripping and the stuffing my face with alfredo were the fourth day.

On Friday I had invited people over for dinner. I had to do the second coat of paint, put up the curtain rods, iron and hang the curtains, and tidy up the [neglected] rest of the house by 5:00pm.

It worked. I painted and screwed screws and ironed, I did dishes, I swept floors, and I picked up cookie crumbs. I did not sit down. The bedroom painting was done. No clothes were put back. No pillows were on the bed. No lamps were on the bedside table. But I was done. I am done with home décor. At least until my bruised knee improves and I wash the Plateau highlights out of my hair. And, to be honest, the dark brown trim isn’t looking so bad anymore – maybe I can deal with it for a few years.

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And the evening and the morning and the pizza and the rum-and-coke were the fifth day.

#maineprobs

There are few things I want more right now than a haircut. I haven’t had a haircut since August. That was 6 months ago. My hair is forming it’s own cult. It’s starting a band. It’s pouf-central-station.

I was going to make an appointment for last Tuesday after work. It snowed. I was going to make an appointment for Friday afternoon instead. It freezing-rained. I was going to make an appointment for Saturday. It snowed. I was going to make an appointment for today. It’s snowing. #snowdaysareoverrated

snowyAnother thing that I’d really like to do is make a budget. We set up an account with a heating oil company for automatic delivery to make sure that our pipes didn’t freeze. It got a bit chilly around here and they’ve delivered three times since January 6th. No one in their right mind budgets three oil payments in one month. There goes that organization. #bankruptcy

I wore the cutest outfit to work last week. There were leggings. There was a gray sweater dress. There was a sparkly collar. There were fluffy, salt-stained, North Face snowboots in a definitely-doesn’t-match tan color. #outfitfails

I went to the grocery store last night to get in some vittles for the upcoming doom known as Linus. I practically wrestled the last bag of tortilla chips from a woman in an L. L. Bean floor-length, down-filled coat and uggs. My cart was covered in snow. Have you ever tried pushing a full grocery cart over a parking lot made of re-frozen, tire-tracked, solid slush? I have. I have also done it while carrying a 24-pack of bottled water in one hand and a carton of anti-freeze car stuff in the other. #hardcoregrocerystore

deckI think I ruined my window-wipers. When I drove home in the freezing rain on Friday I must have left them switched on when I got out of the car. When we started my car yesterday they innocently attempted to start wiping again. Little did they know that an inch of ice and a foot of snow were gluing them to the window. #ripwipers

carsAn ever-present danger that results from living in Maine is the likelihood of getting pierced through the skull with an icicle every time you exit your front door, or walk under a power line, or walk under an awning, or go outside ever, at all. This is not a joke, people, this is a real problem. A little girl in my school arrived with a red, swollen bump on her head and a practically pierced lip due to a near-miss with an icicle. #icekills

iceAnd, that reminds me, you know that part in “A Christmas Story” when the kid sticks his tongue to the ice-cold pole? Well. If you come visit me at work I’ll show you three kids that have had similar problems in the past month. Did you know that school bus windows got that cold? Well – now you do. #savethetongues

It would be really awesome if there was somewhere in Rural Maine that delivered food in snowstorms. Like, if there was a truck with a plow attached that would plow your driveway and deliver your sweet’n’sour chicken and teriyaki beef-on-a-stick. Sorry Tim, it’s sandwiches again tonight. Who cooks on a snow day?

Except if it’s baking. Snow days are excellent days for baking cookies. And for watching tv. And for catching up on your facebook stalking and pinterest pinning. And for finally deciding what color you’re going to paint your bedroom. And for putting items in online shopping carts. And for making a dent in that pile of laundry. And for inventing new outfits. And for trying to do that cool cat’s-eye eyeliner trick you saw on the internet. And for texting your brothers funny gifs at 6:45am.

On a good snow day that stuff will get you up to about 11:00am. After that you’ll stare out the window, wrapped in your Avengers fleece blanket, with two cookies in your mouth, and wonder if winter is ever going to be over. Then you’ll start planning that trip to Florida. #springbreak #funinthesun #getmeouttahere #imgonnamakecocoa

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I Own This

After you’ve finished buying a house you will collapse into your new-to-you couch. You’ll likely sleep for three days straight.

You will then take a deep breath [trying not to inhale the gas that is leaking from your gas cook-stove] and sit on your [slightly dusty] couch and look around at the empty walls and stained carpets and you’ll say to yourself, “I own this.”

Then you will get your phone to call the furnace guy to come and make your baseboard heaters work upstairs. The furnace guy will return 4 times before your heating will work. You will pay him a large sum of money. Then you will sit in your nice and warm upstairs room and say: “I own this.”

After the first snowfall you will remember that you were supposed to call someone to come and plow your driveway. As your husband is outside shoveling in 1* Farenheit you will stand by the window with a glass of wine and look out at the lovely land around you and you will say to yourself – “I own this.”

When family comes to stay and you realize the night before that your carpet looks like a muddy dog just rolled in it you will roll up your sleeves, get down on your hands and knees with a bucket of warm soapy water, and you will scrub the carpet. You will scrub the carpet so hard that you will get dizzy. On second thought, the dizziness might stem from the fact that there is still bleach in your water from that shock-treatment you had to get done on your well to get rid of that pesky bacteria. But, you’ll gesture dramatically to your family about the carpet and you’ll say, “I own this.”

The next morning, despite your scrubbing, your carpet will look pretty much the same. You’ll move a rug over to cover the worst spots.

As time passes you’ll become used to the smell of gas oozing out of your stove every time you cook. You will be reminded of this problem when a fiery “whoof” explodes from your stove while you have the church youth group over for a party. You will pretend that this does not freak you out and, well, fires happen all the time, yo.

A few days later you will make pork chops and fire will shoot out from behind your stove and engulf your favorite sweater in flames for a second and you will resolve to call someone to come and fix it on Monday. Until then you can eat Subway. Sandwiches are delicious, right? You’ll look at your sub and you’ll say, “I own this.”

You’ll measure rooms and do math and realize that to put that lovely tile flooring down in your bathrooms and kitchen will cost an entire month’s salary [that’s you AND your husband’s salaries]. And you will begin to think that linoleum, really, you know, isn’t all THAT bad, sometimes it even looks like tile [if it’s in the right light].

But, despite all the hardships caused by the fact that you can’t find your husband because your house is too big, and you have to search two bathrooms and a bedroom and a closet before you know if you’ve found all the laundry, and despite your discovery that floor lamps are typically ugly and always expensive, you’ll take down your Christmas tree, carry it outside, and throw it in your woods. And you’ll celebrate that fact.

[Last year you had to saw your Christmas tree in half, squeeze it in the back of your sedan, and drive it to the dump in two trips].

You’ll throw your Christmas tree into the clump of trees that you think will disguise it best and you’ll say to yourself: “I own this.”

Buying a House 101

This blog post is a step-by-step guide on how to buy a house. If you imagine this will be a ten-step guide, guess again. It turns out that buying a house is the most complicated and stressful thing that I have ever done. It was more stressful than getting married [because the bankers and realtors were not as cute as my husband] and more stressful than public speaking [because at least the audience can give you some idea of it you’re doing it right].

The first thing you must do if you want to buy a house is math. I did this on paper, on a calculator, in my head on the way home from work, and out loud to my husband. You must add up your income [a quick sum] and your outgoing expenses [a long subtraction]. You will never stop doing math. Not ever. We have finished buying our house now and I am still doing math. Usually subtraction.

The next thing you must do if you want to buy a house is take several days off work. In order to find out if we would qualify for our mortgage, and to find out approximately how much money the bank would give us to finance the purchase of our house, we had to go to the bank. We had to go during regular office hours. Office hours at banks end are from 9-5. My husband and I have jobs. We cannot both make it to the bank between 9 and 5. So. In order to make a large, expensive purchase, we began by taking days off work.

After the bank tells you how much money you can spend on a house you may do the fun part – going to look at houses. We were lucky and found our house only a few weeks after we started looking. Some people look for months. We did, however, see our fair share of cat-pee, mouse-guts, renters, faulty wiring, questionable paint-jobs, and sloped floors. We knew our house was “the one” because it was not next to a creepy grave-yard, nor did it have a make-shift toilet.

[In all seriousness, we choose our house because it was totes adorbs, was within our budget, had the right bedroom to bathroom ratio, and was right smack-dab between our two workplaces.]

After you look at houses the next thing you must do is make an offer. During the week leading up to making the offer you will google things such as, “what to do before you make an offer on a house” and “10 things to look at when you are preparing to put an offer on a house” or “how do you know if you’re ready to buy a house.” You will also dream about houses.

During the process of making a formal offer and negotiating the final agreement with the seller you will hear phrases you don’t understand, such as “kick-out clause,” and you will sign papers without reading the fine-print because it’s too small to read and you’re really hungry and the pile of papers is really big and Gilmore Girls is now on Netflix.

When your offer is accepted and you are under contract your husband will take a video of you dancing around the house in your pajamas. You will forbid him to share this video with anyone on pain of death and dismemberment. You will remind him that if he is dead and dismembered that he will not get to live in the new house.

The worst part of buying a house is applying for the mortgage. You will cry. You will sit on the floor by the coffee table with every piece of mail and every document that you have ever signed and you will cry. Your phone will die because you used your calculator too much. You will lose paycheck stubs from 3 years ago. You will discover a mistake in your jointly-filed taxes. You will become afraid of your phone’s email notification sound in case it is the mortgage officer asking you for another document that you will have to find. You will make three copies of your green card. You will write letters to explain that no, you will not in fact be continuing that non-profit work you did for 3 months in 2011. And you will cry.

The next step in the home-buying experience is the waking up late and night and thinking that you can’t possibly earn as much as that document you just signed said you did and you will begin to do more math. You will go to your husband at work at 6am and lecture him about how the bank must have made a mistake on the math and maybe we should call and let them know. Your husband will remind you that the bank does not open for 3 more hours and that really you should just leave well enough alone.

Later, on the way to work on his cell-phone, your dad will remind you that sometimes you need to stop being a controlling know-it-all and that the bank is pretty good at doing math.

At some point during the home-buying process you will realize that you cannot spend any more money. You will begin to eat the reserves of dry goods that you have stored up in your pantry over the years. It will not be frowned upon to eat cheap, sodium-free, canned tomato soup. You will go out of your way to car-pool and avoid spending money.

The next thing that you will do while buying a house is get an inspection. You will have a house inspection and a septic inspection. You will pay lots of money for them. You will follow the inspector around with a notebook and when he tells you to put some more insulation over the basement door you will write it down studiously. When he notices that there is an outlet not working correctly in the bathroom you will nervously ask him, “so, is that a bad thing?”

Once all these things are finished and the bank tells you that it’s ok – you can buy a house. To buy a house you must leave work early and go to the bank. You bring a special check that is $600 less than was quoted in the Good-Faith estimate. While at the closing you will write a check for $600 to the seller to pay for the heating oil and propane. While buying a house you will not save money.

When you google, “typical length of a house closing” the internet will tell you to expect anything from 1 to 2 hours. Our closing took 25 minutes. You will sign papers while listening to the lawyer tell you what you just signed. There will be at least 6 or 7 other people watching you sign. You will get really good at signing your married name really fast and illegibly. When you are done signing you will get keys. Then it is over. You own a house.

The first thing you do when you own a house is run home and jump up and down. Then you buy your Christmas tree and bring it to the your new house. Your husband will curse while trying to get it to stand up straight in your new house. You will bring your I-home so you can play Christmas music while you decorate your tree in your new house. You will explore all the closets and try to make the ice-maker work in your new house. You will stand around and say to yourself, “this is my new house.”

House