So, now that we’ve spilled the beans to a few key family members, E, A, and I are moving to our very own house here in Frederick, MD! That is, assuming the month between now and when we close on the house stays smooth as an ice skating rink. There are bound to be dings here and there that trip you up, but overall, we are anticipating smooth sailing.
Don’t you love it when your dreams shows up, and they look nothing like what you imagined? My husband, for one, is an example. He wasn’t exactly what I pictured as a the guy for me, but when he walked into my life, I just knew he was my guy. I mean, on our first date, he talked about his loud neighbor who leaped around her living room like an elephant and would show up at the door out of breath, in ballerina slippers. He continued to say how sweet it was and smiled a tender grin. And my gushing heart swelled inside me.
Arriving at my current dream house was similar, sans the ballerina. It’s in a slightly less drab townhouse community than the several others we entered in the last two weeks. You open the door to the basement, essentially. But, wait, it’s clean and polished with decorative wood trim. There’s a fireplace in the “man cave” down the short hallway, and there’s a bedroom with a full bath. This is all on the ground floor, the one where Eric will do his night dwelling and grandparents will leisurely relax two floors beneath our early-rising toddler.
Then, there’s the second level. Space. Windows. Light. Kitchen. I mean a real kitchen in which no one has to bump elbows, and the coffee pot and toaster don’t have to go rounds in the a.m. Less havoc. Beautiful granite counter tops, like the ones in other people’s houses. Not mine. Hardwoods in the kitchen. Deck where spring afternoons can be spent planting herb boxes and playing with trucks. Nice breeze able to blow inside.
You get it. I could go on. It’s almost generic, not exactly my shabby chic, historic taste, but for whatever reason, I fell in love. Like waking up to the fact that you want the guy you treats you well instead of the rugged bad boy. Like gushing when a man smiles about a ballerina.