Lately, I've been having a lot of dreams about buying a new house, and moving. They usually go the same way: find house, love house, then toward the end of the dream the house slowly morphs into something less than what I thought it was.
First, it was this gigantic house that had a bajillion bedrooms all on their own floor-within-the-house, which we thought was so modern and fancy. Then when we went back after making a bid on the house, we realized that in fact they were observation cubes: Each room had four Plexiglass walls up at the top of its own mid-height flight of stairs. So apparently we had to figure out how to get curtains or wall decorations up there enough to give people privacy, without also denying them light. As opposed to, you know, walking the hell out of there. I can't remember exactly why we were so into the house in the first place, but it was one of those things where all of a sudden we were like, "Plexiglass is TOTALLY impractical, why did we not THINK of that?" It seems my subconscious wants us to live in a giant sneeze guard, like a buffet dinner course.
The next fake house had this huge gleaming courtyard in the middle, with a tile pool and swim-up bar, and we were just tickled. Until we did a walk-through during escrow, at which point I had to pull Kevin aside and point out that it had snake problems. As in, they were floating in the pool, which was now in a dirty and overgrown and chipped and cracked courtyard, and oozing out of crevices in the run-down walls. We were like, "Gulp. Can we back out?" It was like a Slytherin shanty, right down to the snakes appearing to find our distress deeply hilarious.
And the third house was, again, totally fantastic, but as we moved in and I walked around it kept changing bit by bit until the ceilings were impossibly high and the rooms were all dark and narrow, and my office was actually just a bench in the den. And it was within this dream that I burst into tears about the prospect of leaving our current house, because of all the happy memories, and how it didn't feel like it was the trash compactor in Star Wars, slowly trying to grind me to a miserable pulp. (A reasonable objection, although Kevin was like, "What? It's just a tall house.")
Problematically, none of this has stopped me from noodling around on Realtor.com, because even though I know -- I KNOW -- we are not ready to buy or move, I keep wondering WHAT IF. What if The House is out there right now? Never mind that we can't afford it, that we need this house to regain a bit more value, that we said we wouldn't move until we had another kid and/or the boys outgrew their room. I just keep searching. And ogling. And bookmarking. And then falling into a pit of despair when the $1.6 million house with gorgeous views that we can't pay for and which isn't child-friendly suddenly goes off the market, because what if I were to win the lottery? And that was supposed to be our house? What then?
So it's no secret WHY I'm having real estate dreams. But maybe my psyche is trying to tell me to CHILL OUT and appreciate what we have. The other night, we fired up the hot tub and sat there, surrounded by the plants that give it a wooded feel, and just breathed in the crisp night air, and that feeling that we were in a different place altogether. It was nice to slow down and look around and enjoy. So I may not have a laundry room, or a walk-in closet, or even a GOOD closet; so the microwave might be broken, and you can't sneak across the living room floor because the boards creak so loudly that it sounds like a giant has let one rip. So what? It's home. And hey, those floorboards beat a burglar alarm any day.