Today I ran around town like a dachshund in a bright red, googly-eyed lobster costume. (Wish I had a video of that one, but you'll just have to trust me: that dachshund RAN. Fast. And often in circles.)
I was so busy because today was Escrow day: the day we signed our papers for our new house. Signed our lives away, as I've heard some people say.
And I can see what they mean. We've attached ourselves to the ball and chain of a monthly mortgage payment for at least the next fifteen years.
It's distressing when I say it that way. But on the other hand, we're actually about to OWN something substantial. We will have a permanent address. That should count for something, shouldn't it?
I did feel excited as I signed all those papers. More than the excitement, though, I felt the gravity of the situation, the reality of the commitment.
And self doubt. How can I be old enough to own a house? Will I be responsible enough to take care of it? Will I be able to maintain a certain standard of cleanliness? Will I be able to keep the plants in the garden alive? Will I be able to keep my toddler from falling down the laundry chute?
I was busy today, not only getting all our finances organized so we could make our down-payment, but lining up contractors for the remodeling that starts Saturday. We close on the house on Friday, and the next day Aaron is heading up to the new house to start ripping out the floors.
Before we move, we're putting in all new floors and doing a modest remodel of the kitchen, which means moving some appliances around and replacing all the cabinets and countertops. We're also painting all the inside walls different shades of golden beige with one blue accent wall in the living room.
I'm trying to decide if I have enough energy for all this, but I guess it's too late to start second-guessing. We're officially wading into the pit of insanity and there's no turning back. The papers are signed.