But here's the thing.
I'm going bat-shit insane and need a place to document what is going on.
Don't worry. The Big Guy and I are just fine. In fact, we celebrate 8 years together next week (and 3 years married the week after that). The dog is fine. Well, except for the Great GI Infection of 2013 that happened a few weeks ago. Let's just say I've never been more happy for linoleum, an abundance of paper towels and having rubber gloves on hand in my entire life. The cat is fine, too (still hates the dog, by the way).
What's going on, you ask?
We're buying a house.
*where's the paper bag?*
*I am seriously hyperventilating*
Here's the story.
If you remember, we live on my husband's family's farm. It's been in his family for over 120 years. His great grandfather built the original farm house that my in-laws live in. We live in the house that my husband grew up in.
For the last few years my in-laws have talked about selling the farm.
For the last 3 years or so my husband gets misty eyed when he eats sweet corn that his dad planted because he says, "this is probably the last year for the sweet corn grown on the farm."
And those summers turned into fall, which turned into winter, which turned into spring and we were right back to planting sweet corn again.
So when a family down the road had interest in the farmable land that surrounds the farmstead--my father-in-law joked with the guy saying, "you'd have first dibs on the land if you bought the farm! ha-ha-ha!" With a chuckle and a punch in the arm, the guy left. Only to return 2 days later asking, "Were you serious?"
A few weeks later, my in-laws had a downpayment in their hands and an agreement to close in late August. The guy buying the place has said we are more than welcome to stay on the farm as long as we'd like. He has no intentions on living there. He really just wants the farm buildings--and first dibs on the farmable land come spring 2014.
In the back of my mind I knew....I just knew...that come late summer my husband would not be all so keen on seeing people working in those buildings. It really boils down to the reality sinking in that your childhood home is no longer yours. You may be saying, "it's just a house, the memories are what counts." Of course...that is a given. But unless you've been in that situation, you have no idea what it's like. I've been there and, for lack of a better word, it sucks. It's more than just trying to figure out where your mom now puts the silverware, or if the bathroom is on the left or right side of the hallway. It is so much more than that. So, I told the Big Guy, "I know you want to stay out here as long as you can. I'm OK with that. But I think we might be wise to start seriously looking at houses."
"Let's do it."
So. We are.
And we are both FINE*.
The Big Guy said it best recently, "This is big. I mean.....this is bigger than when we got married."
Well said, sir. Well said.
Now. If anyone wins the lotto in the next few weeks, please feel free to gift your bloggy friend some of those winnings.