I woke up this morning in a tizzy and asked David to talk me down.
“This is just day two of new possibilities,” he soothed.
That’s both an exaggeration and an understatement.
We’ve been keeping our ears to the ground for handicap accessible houses for years. When Cee would have a flare, we’d talk seriously about modifying our home or looking at other options. Then the flare would calm down, and it would seem silly to discuss uprooting everyone and leaving a beautiful home filled with happy memories.
This time it’s different. We keep adjusting the bar for what’s “good” and “bad” as far as Cee’s capabilities.
She is moving more in the last week than she has in the past six months. We’re intentionally forgetting her wheelchair when we go places in order to force her to walk. We’re pushing the new exercises. We’re making swim therapy a priority.
While we are grateful for the small victories that these changes have brought, we have to be honest about the trajectory of Cee’s disease.
It is unlikely that things will get better as we wait for the time when a double hip replacement will be prudent.
All this is to say that while the idea of moving has at least been on our radar for some time, we have a renewed sense of urgency in our looking.
I’ve had a matrix set up with a realtor in the Big Nearby City for about a year so that any new handicap accessible listings in the area are delivered to my inbox. We’ve talked to a local realtor as well to let us know if anything comes up closer to home.
Well, that’s not completely true. I do get emails from the Big Nearby City about twin homes with tiny-ish yards and two bedrooms. While they look perfect for a retired couple, they don’t look perfect for a growing family. (This is not an announcement.)
Moe needs dirt. And sticks. Cee wants a covered porch (so she can read outside in the rain). I want a laundry room big enough to nap in (“Just a minute kids, I’m just moving the laundry!” wink, wink). And we all need a dining room big enough for school time.
The closest we’ve come was a 1970s home (oh, the wood paneling!) that was more urban than we’d choose. It was handicap accessible (box checked!), but felt more like a public bathroom at a park than a home. A public bathroom might be handicap accessible, but that doesn’t mean you’d want to live there.
Until a few days ago, when a house came up that met most our criteria. (I didn’t actually see if I could comfortably lay down in the laundry room. Probably an odd request to make on a walk-through.)
I’m reminded of when I first met David. I didn’t *know* that we would end up getting married. But the sneakiest thought crossed my mind that we *could* get married someday down the road. It wasn’t a certainty, but a heart-skips-a-beat-maybe.
The house yesterday felt like it *could* be home. Heart-skips-a-beat-maybe. Tulips-and-a-covered-porch-maybe.
For the first time, we’re confronted with the actual possibility of moving. For realz. It’s just been crickets for so long… “New possibilities” is a bit of a misnomer, because we’ve known that this was the direction we’re heading. “New possibilities” is an understatement in that as a homeschooling-work-from-home family, our whole life will shift if we move. It’s more like “new everything.”
Today we drove by (is that the house-equivalent of facebook creeping?) on our way home from getting some flowers for our outside planters. I was hoping to see the house rudely chomping gum or overhear it talking about the benefits of socialism. I was hoping for a deal breaker to slow down my overly-quick emotional attachment. No such luck. There was still just that heart-skips-a-beat-maybe.
But–you don’t just rush off and get married after a first date. So right now we’re seeing other people, us and the house. Maybe we’ll meet for coffee or catch a movie this summer. Maybe this house will find someone tall, dark, and handsome instead of us. Or maybe this house is interested in an awkward, bookish family that doesn’t eat sugar.
This is just day two of new possibilities.