They say it takes the average couple 8 seconds to decided whether not a house is "the one." I think Grahm and I are more like 3.5 second-ers. Scrolling through houses online was easy peasy; I nixed gobs and gobs of homes. Blinding neon tile? Nope. Linoleum? Gross. Washer in the kitchen? Heck no, techno. I was kinda like King Henry VIII with his unfortunate wives, "Off with its head!" (What?)
You can't really blame me though. I mean, the pictures people put online in hopes of selling their homes are absolutely ridiculous. Poor quality, unmade beds, dirty bathrooms, deer heads everywhere, and babies in the corner of the shot. ("Nobody puts Baby in a corner!") You ain't gonna sell your house like that, people . . . especially to this Picky Phyllis.
This process has been incredibly frustrating, but fun. At times, I thought we were searching for a magical unicorn that could poop chocolate and play the ukelele. Finding a home in our budget that didn't look like an out-dated troll cave seemed impossible.
After our foundation fiasco and boo-coos of tears, I was sure we weren't going to find anything we liked as much. But then we found this one... and we love it one million times more than the first house. It's more beautiful than we could ever have imagined for our first home. Bay windows. Hardwood floors. Crown molding. And the best part? The inspections this time were clean as a whistle, a huge answer to prayer.
We are incredibly blessed to have each other and so thankful to serve a Sorvereign Lord who provides for His children. In exactly four weeks, the Roaches will be home (the people, not the bug... fingers crossed).