December in St. Louis

So yeah. I went and bought a house. In a hurry. In a bad economy. In December.

A house that closely resembles my CURRENT home. See?

Current House

New House

So why all the bother? Well, in three words: "Location. Location. Location." Or three more words: "Bathrooms. Bathrooms. Bathrooms."

Ok, gimme three more: "Gas Wolf Range." So...NINE words.

Now, I swore to my husband that I'd stop oogling real estate online when we decided he would leave his job to stay home with the boys. We agreed that the most sensible thing to do would be to hunker down in our outgrown but affordable home for a few more years, even though its cramped spaces, underwhelming kitchen and underperforming school district were starting to trouble us.

(I'm pretty sure he didn't believe me, though I was quite earnest at the time. And to my credit, I lasted three entire weeks.)

Then last Tuesday morning, as I was taking a groggy early morning shower, two things happened. First, the sounds of rushing water woke up Max, whose crib shares a wall with the one bathroom in our home. (Or maybe it was just the sound of my hand touching the faucet knob. Crazy-good hearing is that kid's super power). And then Jack, awakened by his brother's an-hour-too-early rooster calls, stumbled into the bathroom, yanked down his pants and plopped down on the toilet to take care of business. WHILE I WAS TRAPPED AND NEKKID IN THE SEE-THROUGH SHOWER.

I can't say that this was a particularly startling or unusual occurance. It happens almost every weekday morning, wherein we shrug and chalk it up to "family togetherness." But I guess on Tuesday it got to me, because sometime around noon, while noshing lunch at my desk, I did a quick search for 3+ bedroom, 2+ bathroom listings in the coveted, top-ranked school district less than two miles away (and where my parents happen to live). A district where there are NEVER any listings in our price range (and if ever one DOES come up, it's a dive and still gone in like, 90 seconds.)

I wasn't expecting much, because who puts a house on the market three weeks before Christmas?

And then this popped up:

Hurry, as you have heard, this area is hot! Lovely, well-maintained 3 bedroom 2.5 bath home in popular neighborhood. The main floor has a generous open feel with beautiful wood floors and lots of windows. The Living Room has a wood-burning fireplace with lovely stained-glass windows on each side. Recently remodeled kitchen with stainless steel countertops, wooden cabinets, stainless steel appliances, including a gourmet gas Wolf range/oven. 2nd floor includes a large MBR and an attached full bath. 2 more bedrooms, another full bath and a bonus room complete the 2nd floor. Many updates include new electrical wiring, plumbing, roof, landscaping and much more. Large deck. 2 car detached garage is great addition to the property. Walking distance to restaurants, coffee house, theater, bars and Forest Park! This home will go quickly!

As I clicked through the pictures, I got a little nauseous because THIS WAS IT. THE ONE WE'VE BEEN WAITING FOR. And I guess it was a lot like that really bad movie, Autumn in New York, where a philandering Richard Gere finds himself attracted to a 20-something Winona Ryder even though she's waaay too young for him, and proceeds to fall desperately in love with her. Only to learn she has cancer and a few short months to live. 

Yeah! It was like THAT! I was Richard! Because even though I wasn't supposed to be looking, the house was a bit out-of-my-league and the timing was ALL wrong, I had to pounce, and pounce fast. Because I wanted to take it in my arms and awkwardly tongue-kiss it, knowing all too well it would soon be gone.

(Though I prefer to picture myself as Winona in this analogy. Not the post-shoplifting, mascara-stained Black Swan version, but the pale and ironical version from Heathers or Reality Bites. But I digress.) 

Which is why, four days later, I found myself submitting an offer on a house my husband had not even been inside (But with his blessing. This house had him at "school district") and scouting the open house with my mom, trying to ward off competing offers with loud remarks like "THE BEDROOMS ARE TOO SMALL, DON'T YOU THINK?) and "I BET IT HAS TERMITES.") Which didn't exactly work because a glossy-eyed couple with their parents and realtor in tow were walking around all "We are totally buying this house." And mom and I were all "THEY DO NOT KNOW WHO THEY ARE DEALING WITH."

Oh no they did not.

And that, friends, is the story of how it came to pass that I accidentally-on-purpose bought a house last weekend. And now need to sell MY house. And move. Very soon.

And when it's all over, perhaps I'll pen an original screenplay where forbidden love prevails against all odds. I've already got a great working title: December in St. Louis.

Starring me, as myself. And Ryan Gosling as the house. All decorated for Christmas. Because why not? (All my other fantasies are somehow coming true.)

December in St. Louis