Ethan’s health is okay now (aside from all of those problems he has), but come twenty years, heck maybe even five, things might be drastically different for us. We were touring a charming cape cod home for sale by owner just a week or so ago, and my dear husband was having difficulty with the stairs. My back, he says, my knees. Shortness of breath. He requested a home with a bedroom on the first floor, or better yet, a one story all together. My husband who has so very little wants and needs for our future home. And so, you see, I must oblige him.
First, I thought that we could do the first floor master bedroom. No problem. I had been planning on it anyway. Put our hypothetical children upstairs, and I still get the little grand home I’ve always wanted. But then what if those children are sick someday and I’m at work and Ethan can’t go up and down the stairs a million times for Sprite and oyster crackers and extra boxes of tissue? What if, someday, he is too unfit to take the stairs to tuck them in at night? My heart was breaking at the mere thought of it. So, I’d decided. We will live in a one story home.
As for all the land we wanted, we’ve also decided against it. The day after trampling through 1.77 acres in the most perfect location, I realized I won’t be able to take care of it all on my own should something terrible ever happen. If’s and should’s continuously penetrate my mind, molding my ideas of what our dream home will be.
Lucky for us, Cape Girardeau is chocked full of one story homes! Ranches. Cottages. And yet still, I’m having difficulty finding just the right one. Of course the architecture of “the right ones” are rare and rarely on the market. My ideal neighborhood (again, Ethan couldn’t care less about it) is highly unattainable with barely any homes ever listed.
So we must wait. And wait some more.
So that’s how the house hunt is going.