Sunday, January 17, 2010


So it's official. I am betrothed to a bungalow with 1,800 square feet and a sprinkler system.  I should really be excited, because this is a great thing.  I love the house, and can imagine the kids and I hanging out in that family room and on that deck, and I have enough confidence from event planning so things like moving aren't extremely daunting. That, and I am lucky enough to have a daughter who was born to be a project planner and never met a challenge she didn't like.  She will be called upon plenty in upcoming weeks. 

Last week we had a Big Freeze in North Texas (14 degrees at night is colder than I can remember it being in the dozen years I've lived here) and the seller's agent turned off the water, responsibly.  When the inspector came by on Tuesday, he turned on the water at the street, and nothing came out of the taps.  But when we walked outside on the deck, there was a rushing sound.  Burst pipe. 

So after a sleepless night, my realtor called me and said the plumber had been there that day and all had been fixed.  A visit on Thursday confirmed that he had indeed, and that the pipe under the deck had not only been wrapped but also extended out to the end of the deck so we can turn it on to drip during the inevitable freeze in years to come.  The sellers really seem like good, honorable people, and the inspector agreed they'd done a tremendous amount to get the place into good shape. The house was warm and comfortable and felt like mine.  Today I did a drive-by.  Okay, so I do them every day, sort of like looking like your engagement ring every time you get in the car and see it in the sun.  It is still as pretty as it looked the day I found it. 

It's a big deal, but less like getting married than becoming a parent.  I remember being pregnant for the first time and I was as happy and as worried as I had ever been in my life.  This little person, who after all I didn't know yet, was going to be my responsibility.  (Okay, his/her Dad's, too, and he turned out to be a wonderful father, but my control freak nature kept reminding me that I Am The Mommy, and what if I was awful at it?)  The feeling I have when I look at the house is familiar, because it feels less like engagement and more like being with child. 

And yet, that little bean has turned into a smart and capable young woman, and now she'll help me get this done.  Her brother will do what he can, but he is ten and by the time I had him I figured I more or less knew what I was doing (although of course that's an open question for the duration of parenthood) which means he is like, no worries.  Anyway, I'm excited but nervous, but if I can change a thousand diapers I can sure handle furnace filters and garage door openers.  Right?  As my son would say, it's all good, Mom.  

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