So we’re living with my mom.
When I moved out at age 20, I thought it was for good. I was just starting my third year of university. Darling Husband (Darling “Boyfriend” at the time) and I found a craptastic little apartment in the west end.
It had little black and white striped bugs in the bathroom. The kitchen was a dark little hole. It overlooked the Wal-Mart parking lot where we would watch teenagers beat each other up late at night. It also overlooked an active train track, and when they roared by eight or nine times a day, it was enough to make your teeth rattle.
But it was ours.
We lived in that apartment for three years before buying our condo. When we bought the condo, we were newly engaged and excited about “not throwing away money on rent.” We carefully stripped off the duck (DUCK) wallpaper borders and painted the hideous cupboards — along with every single wall. We felt we had really moved up in the world, and were so proud of having our “own” pool and tennis court, and living in a fancy-pants area of town.
It was ours, and it was amazing!
No sketchy train tracks here!
Little did we know, several months into condo ownership would ultimately leave us $18,000 poorer, thanks to a bitch of a special assessment (i.e. everyone give us $15,000 and we’ll put on new siding and new decks OH WAIT make that $18,000 thanks bye suckas).
We lived in the condo for four years. When we got married, we came home to that condo. We brought Baby Boy home from the hospital to that condo. We had a lot of amazing times there. And now? It’s not ours anymore.
We put our place on the market and didn’t really look too seriously at new homes. We didn’t know how long it would take to sell the condo, and didn’t want to lose out on our House of Dreams simply because we hadn’t sold it. I would have been way too stressed.
My mom had generously offered to let us stay with her. She has a large three-bedroom house in an area we’d LOVE to live in (but, uh, definitely can’t afford). We jumped at the chance to be able to sell the condo without needing to have a house immediately, and get to pay down some debts, save, etc.
So the closing was yesterday, and we moved into my mom’s place last Wednesday (to give us time to clean out the condo, steam the carpets, etc.).
We took over the two guest bedrooms upstairs, and a good chunk of the living room (computer, big-screen, army of baby toys), as well as part of the kitchen (highchair, baby dishes/cups, kitchen gadgets I just couldn’t live without). The rest of our stuff, other than our clothes? Sitting in a rented storage unit 10 minutes away.
I really miss my stuff.
We are in limbo now. I am living under the roof I grew up under, but this time? I’m here with my husband and son. I am not the same 20-year-old girl who used to live here. I’m a 27-year-old university graduate, career woman, wife, mother.
My relationship with my mom is different, too. We fought like cats and dogs when I lived at home as a student, and I was worried living together again would be … a repeat of that. But things are mellow now. We are both adults. We respect each other. We are enjoying spending this time together — doing our nails and watching girly movies — but also are careful to maintain the fragile balance of time alone.
Plus, the live-in babysitter factor? DREAM!
I still can’t believe we won’t be back at the condo. I watched Darling Husband shove the keys under the door, but I still don’t believe it. It’s just we’re just … on vacation, or something.
We are looking at houses.
We saw six yesterday.
I don’t know when we’ll buy one.
Who cares, it’s so flippin’ FUN to look at houses, eeeek!
Until then, I am trying to remain calmly planted in the present. Enjoying what we have now. Looking forward to what we will have, when we buy a house. Not obsessing over when, or where, we will find our House of Dreams.