As of yesterday, our house is officially on the market. The sign's up and the phone has started to ring. Happily, the closets are clean and all the rooms are freshly painted. My floors are gleaming and the carpets have been shampooed. Now, if I can just teach the kids to levitate, we'll all be ok.
I'm settling in for months of walking backwards out of every room to make sure things look just right. No unflushed toilets, no toys on the stairs and no unmade beds. Yikes.
Our realtor's name is Maxine. We interviewed a whole gaggle of realtors before signing on with her. It is nerve wracking to take cold-hearted strangers through your home. Like a really intense Parent Teacher Conference. Here is my child, my heart and soul. I know her handwriting leaves a lot to be desired, but have you seen her whiz through her math facts? Have you heard her British accent? Does her smile take your breath away?
Except with the realtors, I'm thinking, Here is my house, it's where my heart lives. I know the floors squeak and the corner cupboard sticks, but you should see it all lit up for Christmas. And how about the big shade tree in the backyard with the swing? And doesn't the yellow dining room just make you happy?
Maxine is like the kindergarten teacher who doesn't just love all children. She's the one who loves my child. She totally gets our house. She likes it. She LOVES it. So, hopefully, she can sell it.
I know with a big house on today's market, it might be a long wait. But am still keeping my fingers crossed.
Because it's kinda prickly living on pins and needles.