We had our 10th showing yesterday, and I was so disheartened. In fact, I had an entire blog post formulating in my mind to talk about the frustrations and discouragements that go along with putting your home up for scrutiny for weeks on end. The feedback from each set of buyers ranged from bizarre (the yard is muddy) to the insulting (you need to clean your kitchen cabinets) to the vague (shows beautifully). One potential buyer came back a second time, much to our delight, but after answering round after round of questions, still nothing. For the record: I can’t do anything about rain; it’s an antique stain, not dirt; and… I know, right?!
Yesterday morning was just the final straw. I already spent time vacuuming, dusting, polishing, straightening, and mopping the night before, then made a mad dash to put on the finishing touches before I left, nearly late for my coaching job. Driving away, I kept thinking how daunting it has been for 7 weeks to make sure the house is spotless. Not presentable or suitable for company, but eat-off-the-countertops spotless. Because we are in a low-turnover area, every single showing counts. Every time someone opens the door, the first impression could make or break the sale. So tidying up has become such a mind-numbing routine, I got halfway through my commute and thought, “Did I move the dirty towels off the floor?” in the same way some people wonder if they turned off their curling iron. I was making myself crazy.
When I got home yesterday, I had an armful of groceries and dropped them all when I encountered a locked door that wasn’t supposed to be locked. I had a bad feeling all day that I was going to get another weird or negative feedback, how it was going to take a toll on my sanity, and then came home to a frustrating try at entering my own house. I was done. I took that as my omen that I was going to be stuck another month… two… three… in this house, day after day, pleading with the Powers That Be to find me a buyer.
I kicked off my shoes, collapsed in the recliner for 10 minutes before I had to get back up and run my kids to various after-school activities while making sure I hadn’t accidentally tracked in lint before I left again.
It was that moment that I got the text. “Call you in an hour. We got an offer on your home.”
Everything went still for a minute. I was excited but didn’t want to allow myself to dream just yet. It felt the same as when you miss a step and try to catch yourself before you crash and your heart is suddenly in your throat.
So… an offer. It took half as long as normal for houses around these parts, and after 44 days on the market, a single showing in the morning resulted in an offer 3 hours later. We countered, and they accepted. All before 10pm.
The “option period” starts tomorrow, so we wait now for the inspection and appraisal. We don’t anticipate any problems since we supervised the construction on this house, have maintained it faithfully over the short 7 years of ownership, and we carefully selected our asking price based on the neighborhood comps.
On the outside, the world is operating normally. We have homework, commutes, extracurriculars, laundry, mowing the lawn, binge-watching TV at bedtime. It’s just daily life. But inside? Someone just kicked over the ant hill.
The Top Left Corner Life 