Choosing Happiness

I am, by nature, a pessimistic person. I am moody and volatile at times. I am sensitive and easily hurt, and deeply self-conscious.

And then I am passionate and loyal, trust worthy and sincere.

I often forget my better traits. I allow myself to dwell in negativity.

I had been dwelling in negativity for weeks, when I was so worried that this house may not be ours. When I was worrying over being stuck in my parent's basement for another daunting length of time.

I have, instead, decided to choose happiness. Happiness is a choice we make each day. And nothing so small as a house should change the happiness that I experience with my family.

I want to choose joy because when I do, it causes a ripple effect in my life. The power of smiling cannot be over estimated.

And in the last few weeks, I have not been cherishing the smiles of my beautiful daughter and son like I should be. I have not been smiling at my amazing husband enough.

So instead of fretting over this house, that my family does desperately need, but can go on living without, I am choosing happiness.

I am living in happiness,

regardless of where we live physically.

Sad but True

Short Sale.

These words have become the bane of my existence.

We started looking for a home over six months ago. Initially, we found a nice house in north Ogden that was for sale in a short sale situation. We got on-board, and we waded through a mountain of paper work with the bank to close on the house. The day of our close day came, and the bank had no papers for us to sign. Apparently, the branch of the bank that deals in short sales had not been communicating with the branch of the bank that deals in foreclosure.

The bank decided to push the house through to foreclosure, even though we had a contract to buy the house. We were out of luck. Nothing we could do. It was the little guy against the huge corporate bank.

Attempt two of house hunting led us to this fantastic house. It wasn't a short sale, it was a traditional, clean-cut, for sale house. Or so we thought. We were supposed to close on this house this week. Instead, the owner requested a private meeting. Turns out, he hadn't been exactly honest about his financial situation when he listed the house. He hadn't been paying his mortgage since last October. Therefore, there is a lien on the house that no-one knew about except for him, until this week.

Again, we find ourselves in a short sale situation.
I don't know if I can do this again. A house starts with all this possibility. You think, because your offer is accepted, and you have a legal contract, that it will all work out. That's not always true. Especially for us.

The seller now has two and a half weeks to get his financial ducks in a row, and sell this house to us.

February 17, 2010.

Pray for us that this works out. My family is exhausted. We love this house, and don't want to lose another one.

I love all the pretty details in this old house. You can't find these things anymore. I haven't even moved boxes in yet, and this house feels like a home. I can't wait to bring in all my old chipped furniture and antiques. They are going to be perfect in this house. Like they were always meant to be here. And after a year in storage, I am ready to see everything again

This is the front living room to our new house. It is pretty much a blank canvas. Once our boxes are unpacked, I will have plenty of options for decorating, and will likely be seeking lots of help. I can't wait to be able to light a fire in the fireplace and lounge around with the family.
For now, the previous owner converted the original wood burning fireplace into a gas fireplace. We will be doing some maintenance and getting the fireplace back to wood burning. We also want to remove the 70s stone that is currently covering the fireplace, and cover it with brick and a cute mantle.

I love the possibility.

A Work in Progress

So here we are. This is our first house, and everytime I walk through it, I fall in love. Even with the imperfections. This house was built in 1938, and I wonder about all the people who have lived here before us.

I am washing you away. I bought your house today, the little brick cottage in the heart of the city. I am scrubbing the wood floors on my hands and knees. I am washing away your footprints, the footprints of your children. I am claiming this as my own. I scrub down cupboards, the cupboards you once put your dishes in. I dig up the garden in the back, the garden you once fed your children from. All day long I think about you, who you might have been, why you left this place, and where you are now. I erase your fingerprints from the sink handles, and replace them with my own.