Alrighty, then. The sign is in the front yard...announcing to the world, or at least our little neighborhood so far, that our house is for sale. Our first house together, the one with the sidewalk where our boys have played and knocked each other around on for the last five years, the one with warm memories for us and for them in every room.
It's also the one that's getting smaller by the moment. And the backyard situation, or lack thereof, is getting on everyone's last nerve, possibly even our next door neighbors', since it seems like we're always fishing balls or boys out of their yards.
So Pete and I have worked like dogs for the past three days getting the place cleaned up. Oh, my. It's cleaner than it's ever been in its short life, and I'm having a bit of a confused moment here. Never, ever, ever, even in my single days, have I ever looked around my dwelling space and not had some sort of housework nagging at me. Our house is completely and utterly spotless.
And I'm in a bit of shock.
Last night I put the boys to bed, and when my thoughts are usually of what I need to pick up downstairs, laundry that's wrinkling in the dryer, dishes cluttering the sink, stray Legos on the floor, and whatevers camping out on the stairs awaiting their trip upward, I realized none of those things existed. It's just plain weird. In a good way.
What did we do with all the toys you might wonder. They've found various boxes and spaces and areas where we created space we didn't know we had. It was amazing when the picking up and weeding out began, how we actually had a little room to spare.
So I told our realtor when she came over last night that she must sell it within a week, because I'm not sure how long this freak of clean can last.
And by the way, if anyone would like to drop in unexpectedly, now's a good time. I'll even let you use the bathroom.