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My husband and I have chatted about moving. Not far. Well, I wasn't thinking far. Ever. Him? He continually mentioned far away states. Me? I never took him serious. Maybe we'd do an addition on our house or live with the space we have. But we wouldn't really move.
He would browse and search online. I would look at the photos. For fun and ideas. We visited an open house or made an appointment with our realtor. I guess it's more serious when you have a realtor. But I wasn't going anywhere.
We looked with such disappointment. Every house showing resulted with us returning to our home and loving everything in our updated smaller 1950 Cape Cod that my husband's grandpa built, including our fabulous location. There just wasn't going to be a house that exceeded all expectations.
One week in early January, we saw one, two, three houses that I wanted to turn around and walk right out of. There was nothing I liked. Perhaps we are too particular. I was done. Stop looking and let it rest. Let it come to us, if it's meant to happen. But please just stop.
The next morning he received an email update from our realtor with a new listing. I think you better look at this. I think we need to see this house. Last one, I promise. Within two hours we were there. And this time, I did love it, but I couldn't let it show. There'll be an offer before the end of the day. It'll be gone and I didn't want to deal with the disappointment.
But we continued to talk about this home all day. We returned to this home later that evening. And then again the next day. Three times in less than 24 hours. We fell in love again. And again. And again. It's been a whirlwind the last seven weeks after visiting that home. A new home. That will soon be all ours.