Moving On

Thinking of moving house? Don't.

I'm not one to go around giving out unsolicited advice, but, if anyone out there is considering moving house, my recommendation would be to think long and hard about this idea, then send it away somewhere deep into the recesses of your mind, put it under lock and key, and don't ever let the thought creep back into your consciousness again. Why am I giving out this advice? Because, unfortunately, I'm living through it.

Everyone loves the idea of looking at new houses, spying into the neighbors newly decorated digs, or flipping through 'Architectural Digest' and dreaming of the ‘if only's': If only I had a bigger kitchen, if only I had another bedroom, if only I had that master bathroom, my life would be complete. Kind of like the seduction of fashion: ‘If only I had those shoes, or that great bag, or those designer jeans,' I would look so cool. Well, not really. The shoes end up hurting my feet, the bag is too small to fit my credit card in and the jeans, despite the crazy price tag, still make my ass look fat. So beware of the ‘if only's.'

New home seduction starts with glossy photos of beautiful granite-topped kitchen counters with opulent stainless steel appliances, six burner Viking stoves, oversized luxurious bathtubs and double wide showers with more body sprays than a car wash. Let's not forget the three car garage to hold all your vehicles, and a bonus room, for well, just for the hell of it. You slowly start to convince yourself that this is indeed what you need to be living your best life. More room would be good for the children, and that gourmet kitchen, that would be good for me. And so it continues.

Once I'd convinced myself that my house was too small, then I set about persuading my husband. After a few tender nights together, he was quickly on board, ‘the children do need more bedrooms, and yes, my wife does deserve that gourmet kitchen.'

However, my husband doesn't take to stressful situations very well, so maybe I just hit the count down button for that ticking time bomb that's beating 30% occluded in his chest.

But he agreed, so I felt as if I'd obtained some kind of informed consent, and we arranged to meet with our first realtor. When she didn't cut the mustard, we met our second realtor, then our third. I guess the fourth's a charm, because she has stuck it out with us these past two years (yes, two years), despite the fact that she has probably logged in more time than her commission will ever pay back.

We have spent countless hours perusing the real estate websites looking for our new dream home. And now that the housing market has crashed, we are able to obtain somebody else's broken dream home at a discount.

Of course the dark side of buying a house, is selling a house. After several months, and lots and lots of cleaning for each showing, we did, in fact, find a sucker, I mean, a buyer. That was back in June and we still haven't closed. Now who's the sucker? I'm starting to think, ‘if only' I'd kept my mouth shut and stayed put I wouldn't be in this mess.

I have to admit, I've taken to having a drink each night, just to steady the nerves. And my husband, well he's taken to more smoking, drinking and swearing, a few gout outbreaks, several episodes of chest tightness and an increased rate of alopecia.

And all this for what? More room?

By the time this move actually happens my kids will be old enough to appreciate all that room and use it to get as far away from us as possible. I might actually have to pick up extra hours at work to help pay for it, and my husband will probably drop dead of a heart attack after we finally move in. In which case, I'll have to go back to work full time, I won't be able to afford the place, and then I'll be moving all over again - to a house with less room.

So please, heed my advice: Stay put, enjoy the proximity of all your family members. Tight space is a finite situation if you have kids, and if you don't have any kids, and you're feeling a bit claustrophobic, go outside and take a walk.