The real estate market sucks right now. It’s just about the worst time to go about selling your house and moving. And yet, that is what my family and I are doing right now. Our little three-bedroom townhouse, which seemed so incredibly spacious just six years ago, is now feeling too small for the three of us (me, my husband and my son who has just entered the terrible twos). And trying to get our home in selling condition with a toddler running around is not the most fun thing ever. In fact, next week I’m taking my son home to Kansas so that he won’t get into everything when the painters and the carpet people come. When I return, my house will look completely different. I’m not sure it will even look like home anymore!

Our blue carpet is being replaced with a neutral color–white, probably, which will be hellish to keep clean (I am not the world’s best housekeeper). Our bedroom, which is turquoise (it was like that when we moved in, but we’ve found it relaxing) will be Windsor Cream. Our basement, which is lavender (another color we didn’t choose) will be white. I think all of these things will be improvements–I am absolutely sick of everything in my house being shades of blue. But I am still going to miss it the way it was, the way we’ve lived in here for almost all of our married life.

Meanwhile we’re putting everything into storage. At some point we’ll have to stop because we’ll need all our remaining things to live–but practically every other day now we make a run to the storage unit with containers of books, stuffed animals, toys, action figures, scrapbooking materials, art supplies, handbags, photos, shoes, clothing (and that’s just MY stuff). Everything we own is slowly being siphoned away from here. It’s like our personality is leaching away.

We’ve found a new house we like, but considering how bad the market is we may not be able to sell our place before that house is off the market. Apparently townhouses have it worse than regular houses–maybe because the market is so down that everyone can buy a house, why even look at a townhouse? To make matters more difficult, the neighboring townhouse is also on the market. And has been for four months, without a single offer. It’s at least as nice as ours, if not nicer, because it doesn’t have a destructive child in it–just two responsible older people. I’m so glad I discovered Mr. Clean’s Magic Eraser, otherwise we’d have to sell this place with Sharpie ink, pen ink and crayon all over the walls.

I hate being in transition. I like having a stable, boring life. I want to know that we have a place to move to. I want to know I can start planning where to put the art on my new walls. I want it all to be settled. Otherwise it just feels like we don’t really belong anyplace anymore. Not here, because we’re changing everything to appeal more to faceless buyers and all our things are going into storage. And not there, because we haven’t actually got that house we want yet. And who knows if we will? Every day lately it’s all about moving, moving, moving. Yet it doesn’t seem like we’re any closer to moving at all.

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