summer job

What's summer without a proper summer job? At the risk of becoming "bored" this summer while on a teaching hiatus (or perhaps in an attempt to escape my day job as a mom), I have taken on a new role as real estate photographer. Jill of many trades; master of none.

The opportunity to "expand my portfolio," if you will, came about as my realtor left her former company and started her own. She needs content for her new blog and asked if I would be interested in photographing some spaces for her. One thing led to another, and today I tackled my first "interiors" photography gig. It was a challenging one, in short, that required some staging on my part, but I think I worked it out. When I got home and showed the kids my proofs this afternoon, Scout wanted to know why this girl had "all the same stuff in her house that we have." I'm new here...limited resources.

my balls look better

Hey guys, guess what! I have a picture of our house to show you!

I think my contractor said it best when he asked me "Where do you get these ideas of yours?" I wish I had the answer--or maybe I don't because it makes me sound "artsy" and "creative" to design on the fly--but honestly sometimes things just pop into my head. When it comes to most things in life, I am not spontaneous, and I am not a "fly by the seat of my pants kind of gal" (even though that is one of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite movies).

In regular (non-decorating) life I like to make plans, and I don't mind if those plans change as long as someone gives me advanced notice of those plans changing. I do not fly by the seat of my pants. In decorating, however, I do fly by the seat of my pants. Except the phrase I like to use, which is arguably odder and perhaps sounds clairvoyant, is that something "spoke to me." I don't have a problem hearing these decorating voices, but they kind of drive Alex crazy when he doesn't get the memo that now we're painting the dining room ceiling black, for instance.

Me: I don't know. I'm into this black thing right now. I just want to paint the ceiling black.

Alex: You said everything in the house was going to be white.

Me: I know, but that was before.

Alex: Before what?

Me: I don't know. I'm just feeling the black right now. I'm into the whole contrast. Just don't ask me. Whatever. Paint it black.

Alex: [Eyes rolling behind my back. No words, but he's thinking "crazy bitch."]

So this is what happened that time I bought black paint for the interior doors (that was part of the original plan, by the way) and then we painted the fireplace (on the fly decision because it was speaking to me)...

The dining room went from drab:

To fab:

The balls are another story that involves one dropping from the ceiling and hitting Alex in the head before shattering on the dining room table. "At least it didn't happen to one of the children," is what I said. "That's what happens when you buy stuff from China on eBay," was Alex's take on the situation. Either way, we got a replacement (from China on eBay) and then blew out the socket when we hung it for the second time. "I really don't care. They look nicer than those other crap-ass lights," I said. "It would be nice if they worked," countered Alex. #formoverfunction

always find a stud

Disclaimer: I started this blog post about a week ago. I don't know. I've lost track of time, but when you read "this morning" below, it wasn't actually this morning.

This morning I was feeling quite pleased with myself because it was the first time in my adult life that I had a true walk-in closet (and it happened before I turn 40!). I was so overjoyed and that I had one of those "I feel like a character from Sex in the City" moments, to which only girls of a certain age can relate, as I placed my first pair of shoes in my new closet. With great gusto--and alone with my dramatic devices--I anointed my favorite pair of shoes (white Birkenstocks, obviously) queen of the closet. It was a Carrie Bradshaw meets Austin wannabe hippie mom moment.

Several hours later; however, the moment came crashing down. Literally. But let me back up a for a second. I neglected to tell you that the night before I became a true adult with a closet, Alex and I stayed up until 3:00am assembling that closet. It was someone's brilliant idea to start the project around 10:00pm when the children were sound asleep and the wine was flowing because anyone who has ever tried to renovate a house will tell you you get nothing done with children around. And wine makes home projects more fun. Do you see what a great idea this was?

The only setbacks were 1) we don't have a functioning light in our bedroom, which made reading directions a little tricky and 2) it was 10:00pm and the wine was flowing when someone decided to embark upon this project. I'm that someone, by the way, and I stand by my decision.

Back to the crash the following day: some time around mid-afternoon I heard a suspicious noise from our bedroom. It sounded too loud to be any sort of rodent activity, so I checked it out without hesitation. When I looked in the closet I discovered one of our sturdy hanging units had separated itself from the wall. It could have been a disaster, but luckily the other screws were holding on for dear life and kept the shelves and hanging rod afloat. Apparently Alex and I had missed a stud--even after my big joke of the night where I referred to myself as the true "stud finder"--when we were screwing the hanging thing (that's what you call it at 2:00 in the morning) into the wall.

I should note that the endangered shelves and a hanging rod had already been meticulously organized by me. Even going off three hours of sleep, I can organize a closet; however, my spirit may not have recovered if I had had to witness my day's work strewn recklessly about. That would not have been a Sex in the City moment.

the demo days

Today I handed our contractor a check, and we parted ways. I'm not gonna lie--it was kind of sad saying goodbye. It's such a strange relationship you have with your contractor. For two weeks (in our case) you're on the phone with this guy every day. He's asking you questions like what color grout you want for the tile; you're looking to him for advice; you're also cursing his name behind his back. It's a complicated relationship. His "guys" are in your house every day. They have a key and let themselves in...they know your children and laugh at your husband's elementary Spanish when he tries to crack jokes. And then...poof! It's over, and they've moved on to their next relationship.

I'm not suggesting that I'm pining for the days when there was a dumpster in driveway and ductwork littering our front yard, but I am suggesting that I might come up with a few more "projects" just to check in with my contractor every few months. I told you--it's complicated.

the story of a rat

I'll spare you the visual, but I have a little story that goes something like this...

But first, the backstory. The backstory begins, as they often do, with the stories of our friends and how they purchased their homes in this coveted Austin neighborhood. It seems that everyone has a story about how they "got lucky" purchasing a home from a hoarder or a house where the roof was caving in on itself. Our story is that we "got lucky" by purchasing a rat-infested home (or maybe it's more accurate to say the only home in our price range in this neighborhood was rat-infested). To be clear: we knew there was a rat "problem" when we purchased the home, and "rodent exclusion" was on our list of "things to do" before we inhabited the house. I know I'm using a lot of air quotes here, but bear with me if you want to hear a semi-decent story.

Long story short: the "rat guys" came in; they did their thing; they left us with a sealed-up rat-free home...or did they? It rained (a lot) last week, and apparently rodents--at least the kind that live in your attic and not the sewer--seek shelter in the the rain. Last Friday night I heard the sounds of a "friend" playing around in the kitchen while I was quietly reading on the sofa. We still don't have television, so there was no white noise in the background to drown out the noise of, say, a rat messing around in your kitchen. On Saturday morning I called our local pest control experts (we have them on retainer) to let them know I had seen "evidence" of rodent activity. If you'd like to know, my evidence consisted of droppings and a paper bag that had clearly been chewed through by our unwanted guest. The earliest they--Pest Control--could come to our house was Tuesday because (guess what?) they got backed-up due to the rain (and presumably all the critters seeking shelter inside).

And then it was Saturday night. The girls went to bed as per usual (Catcher was in Houston for spring break) and I was, once again, reading on the sofa alone. I heard the rat in the kitchen; imagined him cooking up a cocktail of paper bags and chia seeds (it turns out he likes those) for himself. I went to bed uneasy yet not terrified because 1) there was a box of Cheerios in the kitchen if he got tired of chia seeds and 2) I've dealt with rodents before--I lived in New York City.

And then it was 1:30 in the morning. I don't know if I woke up because I heard something in my bedroom or I woke up and then I heard something in my bedroom. It turns out that waking up at 1:30 in the morning and discovering a rat beside your bed will kick you into terrified mode pretty quickly. I shined my iPhone flashlight--because I sleep with my phone in the bed when Alex is away--in the direction of the noise that awoke me or I heard when I awoke just in time to see the fat mother (you know what) scurry out of the bedroom into the living room under the piano. I couldn't sleep for the rest of the night. When daylight finally broke, to my great relief, I felt as if there was once again a newborn in our home dictating my sleeping patterns--I was tired and frazzled.

Fast forward two days. Alex came home; I told him the story about the asshole rat who came into our room in the middle of the night (I think he half-believed me), and we set a good old-fashioned snap trap with a morsel crouton wrapped in salmon wrapped in brie. The rat took the bait. The trap did not snap.

At this point I abandoned my humanitarian side that feels cruelty toward animals, and I got inside the mind of the rat. I defaulted to a glue trap. My rodent endeavors from my days in NYC had taught me that, when in doubt, go with the glue. There are many negatives to this type of trap, but desperate times call for desperate measures. The end of the story is, of course, we caught the rat. (At least we caught this rat...the jury is still out as to whether or not there are additional rats roaming the grounds.)

The long and short of it is this: I put the (glue) trap in a position where I know it would not fail. The rat had gained confidence over the previous nights and carelessly went for a crouton in a paper bag on the floor that had been surrounded by glue traps. I heard the thrashing of the rat body on the glue trap (too graphic?) in the morning around 5:45 and knew we had caught the sucker. Because Alex missed the rat-by-the-bed incident, I elected him disposer of the rat that had its face and half its body affixed to the trap.

It may not be a humane story, but it's our story about that time we bought a rat-infested home in Hyde Park. Sometimes in life one has to make sacrifices.

sneak peek

My hands are spattered with black paint because last night after having a cocktail (or perhaps it was two) I decided it would be fun to paint the fireplace black. And I didn't stop there. Stay tuned for more...

let me remind myself...

The first photo is to commemorate our moving day. The next two photos are to remind me of what our living/storage situation looked like last week. The last photo is to remind me that the outdated/dirty/yucky bathroom that was here when we bought the place will be long gone from memory as soon as we get the finishing touches (like a toilet!) in this one.

In other renovation news...things are going well. We reconnected with the 21st century via wifi yesterday, and I cooked  a frozen pizza in the oven the other night (the only meal we haven't eaten out since we moved in...there goes all that money I was saving on rent by moving in before renovation was complete). We also have interior doors now; but no knobs yet. I'm told the plumber is coming tomorrow, so as much as I tell myself I like the adventure of walking outside to use the toilet in the casita, I'll be happy when I don't have to round up all the children for a ride on the potty train.

one more night

As the children at their last supper in the house on Grooms Street, it occurred to me that Tillie was only five months old when we moved in here. And then it occurred to me that Catcher had just turned four when we moved in...and Tillie just turned four herself earlier this month.

Tomorrow is moving day, so I suspect I'll be off the grid for a bit. It always takes a while for us to get ourselves back in the 21st century. I'm glad February has an extra day this year--we're going to need it! 

knocking down walls

Meanwhile...back at the house...

Some time after Waco but before Oxford, Alex carved out several good hours of bathroom demo. I've been up to my eyeballs packing in the meantime, where I've almost reached that I-don't-care-where-this-goes-I'm-just-throwing-it-into-a-random-box phase. Catcher and Scout show up at the new house every now and again--usually when we're going to pick up Dad who's been slinging the sledgehammer all day--while Tillie has been my design assistant and knows all the guys at the Tile Guy by name.

howdy neighbor!

This morning Alex and I took the kids by the new house, which officially belongs to us after funding went through at 4:26pm yesterday. There was one last snafu yesterday (because why wouldn't there be?) when the title company realized they had not included a paper that the seller needed to sign in his mobile notary pack. Lucky for us,  he was able to get himself to a Kinko's and have it signed and notarized by close-of-business. Finally we're homeowners, and this morning we went to check things out since we got cheated out of our final walk through due to Traingate.

But I suppose all the drama was worth it in the end because 1) We're homeowners again; and 2) one of our neighbors left a bottle of sparkling rose on the doorstep. It was quite a pleasant surprise at 8 o'clock this morning, and now Alex doesn't have to get me a Valentine's Day present.

almost isn't good enough...

except in horseshoes and real estate (if you're lucky and praying there's no FedEx catastrophe tonight).

"It's like going to the hospital and coming home without a baby," is what our realtor said when we walked into the closing office of the title company this morning. She was dead on. The perky receptionist had already rubbed me the wrong way, and I might have lost it if one person uttered "congratulations" as we were signing the papers that would make us homeowners once again. Because we were simply homeowners-in-waiting at that time. The only thing inhibiting the process, of course, was the seller who hadn't completed his end of the deal. Every time I saw his name etched under the line "Seller," my stomach dropped.

After several toy train jokes and thirty minutes of signing, Alex and I went on our way as homeowners-in-waiting. We were both feeling oddly depressed and thought that a trip to Home Depot would perk up our spirits and get the creative juices flowing. Word to the wise: if you almost, but not quite, become a homeowner one morning, do not (do not) go directly to the Home Depot. We walked out with $20 worth of boxes and a pack of Mentos.

Meanwhile, back in Seattle (or Salem...or Portland...or wherever); actually I don't know what was happening at this time out west, but I imagine our seller was waking up to his artisan-brewed coffee thinking what a beautiful morning it was. He wasn't thinking about the family he sent into a tailspin less than 24 hours earlier. He probably wasn't even thinking about his toy trains that meant so much just hours ago. Alex and I were bummed, but we had the law on our side.

At noon, as I was releasing my frustration by furiously packing all the books in our house, our realtor texted us to say the seller had agreed to meet the mobile notary at 1:00pm (3:00 our time) at the Starbucks in some place Oregon. My memory did not fail me, however, as I recalled this was a repeat of yesterday's episode. I wouldn't let myself believe that this time it would be different.

By 3:55pm (our time) I was wondering if "no news was good news" or no news was bad news or no news was just no news. And then the text arrived. Our realtor let us know that he had signed. I laughed out loud. Literally. Laughed. Out. Loud. I sometimes laugh at inappropriate times because I'm not sure what emotion I should be feeling. This may have been one of those times.

And so the story ends. At least I hope that is the end. The only thing that could go against us now is the FedEx package with the signed papers getting lost somewhere overnight before it makes its way from Oregon to Austin. But what are the chances of that happening? I think our story is good enough already.

this will make a great story some day

A wise friend once told me that any time he and his wife come across diversity in their lives they look at each other and say "This will make a great story one day." Alex and I are currently in the throws of making a great story. I don't know where to begin other than "in medias res," or "in the middle of things," as great writers (Homer, to name one) have done before me.

The text came in at 6:35pm last night. The seller was back from Colorado and upset that $10K worth of toy trains were "missing" from the casita (the detached studio in back of the house). Alex and I had a chuckle--via text with emojis included because he was working a basketball game in Kentucky last night--and thought it would all be cleared up by closing on Thursday. The real kicker? Those missing trains had been stored in the shower. Let the record show I never opened that shower door for fear of some critter jumping out at me (I swear by it, Austin PD). Let's pause here and wonder who stores $10K worth of anything in his/her shower?

Today during my English class I drop my phone on the floor and noticed I have four unanswered texts from my realtor. The last of which reads "Can you all give me a call?" It turns out that our seller has once again skipped town. This time he's in Oregon and proclaiming he will not go through with the closing until his trains have been recovered. Again, I wonder what is the deal with these trains? But then I snap back to reality and think, "Is this going to screw up our closing?" The rest of the story is comedy. Larry David couldn't write it any better...

It turns out our esteemed seller has, in fact, fled town. He called his listing agent and blessed her out about the missing trains and wants names and numbers of every person who has been at the property since it went under contract (bring it!). The title company, meanwhile, has sent a mobile notary (apparently there are such things--you learn something new every day) to meet up with him at a Starbucks in Salem, OR so the papers can be signed and FedEx-ed back to Austin prior to closing tomorrow morning at 10:00am.

There is no word from the seller.

At approximately 3:00pm our time, the seller sends an email to the title company saying he has to "cancel the meeting." He has contacted the Austin Police Department and the closing will be placed on hold while they conduct their investigation into the missing trains. The seller also notes that once A) the trains have been recovered or B) he has been reimbursed, he is "ready, willing and able" to close. At this point I'm starting to get a little suspicious, aren't you?

Scout had soccer practice at 5:00pm. Between the time I get home with the children at 3:00 and had to leave for her practice at 4:45, these are the things that Alex and I had to accomplish (and Alex did most of the dirty work): cancel the HVAC energy audit that was scheduled for the new house tomorrow afternoon; cancel the rodent "exclusion" that was scheduled for Friday morning; contact the City of Austin and Texas Gas to let them know "our bad...looks like we won't be switching the utilities over to our name tomorrow." In the meantime our realtor had her people looking into crime reports on the property and found a lawyer who represent us if it came to that. I also had to craft an email--for the purpose of establishing a paper trail--stating that we're sorry for the homeowner's loss and are willing to cooperate with the police department in their investigation; however, we must close tomorrow. I have already packed up half of our house, and we have to be out this place by February 29th, per the agreement we signed with our landlord. And if the seller does not uphold his part of the contract we will be forced to seek legal counsel. Thank you and goodnight.

That is the last correspondence that has taken place on this matter. I'm assuming that the seller has not yet signed his papers, which must be sent via FedEx by 9pm PST (if indeed he is in PST right now), in order to make it to the closing tomorrow morning. For our part, Alex and I are moving forward to ensure that everything is aligned with what we laid out in the contract. We will be at the closing tomorrow. We will sign the papers. We will wait to find out what the hell happened with those supposed trains.

I told you this would make a good story some day.

it's a bit of a fixer-upper

If you haven't heard the story about the time Alex and I bought our first home at the height of the real estate boom and then tried to sell it--unsuccessfully, for two years--following the crash of 2008, there is an HGTV episode of "My First Sale" in which we chronicle our adventures. Although, being a "reality" TV show, it didn't exactly chronicle our real life adventure. Our takeaway from this experience was discovering that we are not lucky in real estate. At least that was our first clue.

Our second clue that real estate is not our bag came when we moved to Austin, a city in the midst of an enormous growth spurt, and learned that that the so-called "economic downturn" (the one where we finally ended up selling our house in North Carolina and owing money on the deal) didn't seem to have an effect on Austin. At least not when we moved here in 2011. Or 2012. Or 2013...or '14...or '15. Huge pro that the city is thriving; con that we wanted to get back into the home-owning saddle.

Last spring we were finally feeling settled. After living in our neighborhood for four years we were sure it was the right one for us. So sure, in fact, that we closed ourselves off to even thinking about houses in a different school district. We love the neighborhood and the school, so in a rare moment of confidence, we vowed to begin the Austin house hunt in earnest. Once again, however, Alex and I were clued into the fact that real estate and we do not see eye to eye. We found ourselves in a perhaps even bigger real estate boom--at least locally and, specifically, the neighborhood in which we want to plant our roots--than we were ten years ago.

If you haven't had the pleasure of searching for a home when there is great demand yet little inventory, let me give you a hint: have your sh** together; be ready to put an offer on a house after looking at the morning it goes on the market (even if your partner hasn't set foot in the house); and be prepared for a bidding war. That is what happened to us in June. The long and short of it is we did not get the house we wanted (we came in second) and I was sure we would never own a home again. At least not without moving 30 minutes out of town into the great wide suburbs. But then the summer flew by and kept us busy and school started, for both me and the children, and we had soccer and soccer and piano to keep us busy. The next thing I knew we were spending Thanksgiving in Disney World and getting ready for Christmas. We looked at a couple of houses here and there, but one reeked of cigarette smoke and another had walls so thin Alex almost shook them down with his bare hands. Besides, like I said, Christmas was coming and life was whizzing by us.

But then...

About two weeks before Christmas my realtor texted me with the address and a picture of a place that was going on the market shortly. After several drive-by stalkings on my part, I convinced myself this was it. This was the house we had been waiting for all this time! The reason things didn't work out in June was because this house was waiting for us to climb up its front porch stairs that need reinforcing. The only problem was, and it was a pretty significant one, we couldn't get inside. The owner had apparently fled town and left the house in disarray. The listing agent wouldn't let us in because she feared the mess would scare us off (obviously she was not aware of my ability to have houses "speak" to me as I see past the dirt and clutter).

Finally my agent convinced the seller's agent to at least send us pictures of the interior. It was dirty and it was cluttered, but we climbed up that platform and dove back into the real estate pool: we made an offer on the house without ever walking inside. Alex was out of town at the time. I sent him a text saying, more or less, "Our agent is sending you a contract to sign. Just sign it. We haven't been in the house yet. NBD. I'll explain later."

And then we waited. But not for long. The agent got back to us immediately saying the seller didn't want to look at the contract without us having been inside the home first. So he had called our bluff. But then we called his right back. Alex was still away, so our agent and I checked out the dwelling on a sunny Sunday morning and let the listing agent know our offer stood. We even bumped up the option fee for a little extra incentive. I should also mention that we offered above the would-be asking price because that's the market in which we find ourselves.

And then we waited; almost a week went by. And Christmas was three days away, and there was no word from the seller. And then we waited. And I was at Target on the 23rd getting stocking stuffers for the kids when my agent texted me that the seller had decided to wait until after the holidays to get the place cleaned up and "fully market it," which everyone knows is code for "Thanks but no thanks. I'm expecting multiple offers." Just like that, we were out of the game. Did I mention real estate isn't really our thing?

So we celebrated Christmas and our early New Year's Eve, and in the spirit of the season I forgave the guy who wouldn't sell us his house and resolved to move on in the spirit of a new year (but I really wanted that house).

Any guesses on what happened next? On January 2nd my agent texted me once again to say the seller had had a change of heart and wanted to go with our offer. True story. My theory is he watched some sappy made-for-TV cheesy Christmas program and his heart grew three times its size.

So that is what has been occupying my time the greater part of January 2016. Alex and I were extremely hesitant to even mention the we're-buying-a-house thing to anyone because we were (and still are) nervous that something would fall through and we'd be back in our rental house for the unforeseeable future. We're less than two weeks out from closing, however, and things have gone relatively smoothly--if you don't count the number of times the "underwriter" came back to us to verify employment and documents and funds and signatures and whatever else they could cook up to drive us crazy until we got the final "clear to close" last week.

After all this time (speaking specifically of the five-ish years I've been blogging), it looks like things have come full circle. When I started this blog, Alex and I were trying to sell our house in Charlotte, NC and hoping to stumble upon a fixer-upper where I could chronicle the ins and outs of making a dinky little house our home (or Sassy Shack, if you will). Obviously I am not a great soothsayer, but it turns out that we did find that sassy shack. It took us five years and the house is about 1700 miles away from Charlotte, but it's in an amazing town called Austin, TX that we love and has truly become our home. Stay tuned.

house hunters

I'm not admitting yet that we're actively looking for a house to buy (because we're not), but I will say that we're investigating the market. It appears that homes in our neighborhood stay active for less than a week on average before someone swoops in and makes an offer (or 14). This evening we went to check out a place that will surely be under contract this time next week, and coming home I was reminded of how exhausting it can be searching for a house. The expression on Catcher's face (above) pretty much sums up how I feel about the prospect of this endeavor: meh (not hot, not not, just meh as defined by The New York Times Magazine).

Because we went through such an ordeal attempting to sell our house in Charlotte--remember that two years?--I second guess everything and wonder if this [imaginary] house will be the house for the rest of our lives. Are we going to throw Catcher's graduation party there? Will Tillie's future in-laws come over for lunch? I realize I might sound a bit cuckoo, but these are the things that I think. In the meantime; however, it is fun to let the kids run circles around someone else's house for a change.

14 offers

This sweet little house will soon be somebody's new home, but it won't be our new home. For the record, we aren't actively house hunting, but we saw this cutie go on the market this past weekend, and we thought it might be fun to check it out--just like the old days back in Charlotte. It turns out that we weren't the only ones interested in this little property. The owners received 14 offers (14!) in the three days since it went on the market. It kind of made Alex and me laugh (in a laughing at ourselves kind of way) because our house in Charlotte was on the market for nearly two years. And I don't think 14 people even looked at it...ever...period.

Truth be told; however, this house didn't really speak to me. It's the perfect size on a great street with neighbors we already know and a playful back yard, but it was missing a certain je ne sais quoi--that something that I can't explain, but know it when I know it. There aren't any interior shots, by the way, because we weren't the only ones looking at the house while we were looking at the house. Our three children were running wild through the rooms dodging two realtors, another couple scoping out the place and the parents of one half of the couple. It felt like a regular open house, which also made Alex and me laugh since no one ever showed at our open houses. Good work, 3813 Avenue H!

remember me?

Alex's television travels have taken him to Charlotte for the weekend, and he managed to find his way back to our old home. It looks as if our former neighbors convinced the current owner to cut down the walnut tree in the front yard. The great walnut tree debate of 2010 is what caused our neighbors to stop speaking to us. They wanted us to cut it down because squirrels would gather walnuts from our tree, take them back to the giant oak in our neighbors' front yard, and drop tiny pieces of shell on their fancy cars. I said no. Apparently that made us dead to them (although having them not speak to us was no great loss).

I still like the house better with the tree.

measure once...

Below is a sneak peek at the new house. We stopped by today to take some measurements so I can sketch out some floor plans tonight (yes--I'm that big of a dork). The place has improved dramatically since I first looked at it, but there's still a few things to be done before we set up shop.

Today they were power washing the front and back porches, and a new floor for the bathroom is going in tomorrow. The hardwoods still need to be buffed and the blinds could use a good dusting, but that's not stopping us from starting the move. In fact, Alex is loading the pickup with boxes as I type. He's making a run over there tonight because my dream is to wake up there Sunday morning to actually enjoy my Sunday paper on Sunday (I've already had it forwarded) and we've realized the move could take longer than we think with the three little ones involved. Besides, we're tired of sitting around surrounded by boxes and not going anywhere.

say hello to our little house

One of the best things that New York ever did for me (besides bringing me together with my husband) was teach me to live in small spaces. I de-clutter, I downsize and I do without. I will choose neighborhood over size any day of the week, so let me introduce you to our new house in Hyde Park. I mean, it's not our house technically, but it will be for the next 12 months...if our application is approved.

It's a long--yet short--story on how we landed the place, but early signs say it's the perfect fit. It's tiny (1164 square feet, to be exact); it's old (built in 1927) and a little rough around the edges (vinyl floor in the only bathroom). But there's a backyard and a sidewalk, and it isn't sandwiched between a highway and a strip club. I'm excited for Catcher to have his own bedroom, and I can't wait to explore a new neighborhood in Austin. I'm sure the coffee tastes just as great as it does down here.

And now the fun of moving yet again begins. How many places will this make for Alex and me? Does the hotel we lived in for two months in Charlotte count? I'm eager to get started, but maybe I should wait until our application is officially approved before I find a box to pack.

the search is on

I think I've had my fill of apartment living. It was fine when I was single in New York and didn't mind if I cooked a mouse--I'll have to tell you the story one day--every now and again but things are different with three kids. Groceries are heavier when you have to lug them from the parking garage with preschooler, toddler and infant in tow. Noises are louder at night when you're worried a boisterous group of drunk kids outside of the building is going to wake the baby. Garbage is smellier when you have to walk by the trash shoot on your way to the car.

So we're embarking on our next challenge: finding a house to rent in Austin. Our lease is up at the end of July but we just started taking this seriously. Last week we found two places we liked, and one was rented within eight hours while the other rented before our scheduled appointment to check it out. Although the logistics of moving are a nightmare, I welcome the change. I'm excited for a new place--maybe I'll actually hang something on the walls this time--and I secretly love the de-cluttering that moving forces upon you. It took me three moves with Alex, but we finally got rid of his posters from high school last year. Maybe this time we can work on the baseball card collection (kidding...sort of).

in other shocking news

Remember this house? In case anyone is keeping track, our show about selling it did not air on HGTV last week. What is they say? Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. Well...shame on me because for the second time I launched a social media blitz alerting all our fans (haha!) out there of an air date that wasn't. Coupled with the fact that the show isn't even good, this is the last time I will write about our brush with reality television. Or, more specifically, this is the last time I'll write about this particular brush with reality television. You never know if Alex and I will try out for The Amazing Race some day.