Our house shopping experience was a far cry from exciting and fun. It seemed like every home we fell in love with fell through for various reasons, and the whole process was stressful and disheartening.
We had just come off of an exceptionally disappointing week. We had backed out of final negotiations on a home in our dream neighborhood. It was the only neighborhood we had been looking in for almost a year. We had our hearts set on it and no one could convince us otherwise. After lots of discussion, Matt and I decided to take a break from house shopping and resume normal life. Besides, we were happy in our current house and were in no rush to move.
Little did we know, we would be the example of Matt’s favorite “remote control” analogy:
Looking for a lost remote control is so frustrating. You tear your whole house apart looking for it with no success. It’s not until you stop looking for it that the remote winds up in the most unusual place you never thought to look!
Finally free from a weekend of house shopping, Matt and I took a shortcut through a familiar neighborhood while running errands. Slowly approaching an adorable bungalow with a fresh “for sale” sign, I could tell Matt and I were thinking the same exact thing. Our eyes locked, yet neither said a word. We pulled into the driveway, turned off the car and said to one another “this is it.”
Thankfully the home was vacant and we just so happen to be experts in stalking homes for sale. In less than 3 seconds we were out of the car and climbing over the backyard fence, peeking in windows and sitting on the front porch like we owned the place. After an hour or so of this nonsense we decided we were going to call our realtor and put an offer in immediately on Monday (when she returned from her honeymoon).
We got back in our cars like giddy 5 years olds on their way to Disney. As we were exiting the neighborhood, Matt noticed a small red sign that said “Open House.” I assumed it was an old sign because there were no other houses for sale in the neighborhood, and the house we just stalked was definitely not “open.” Just to be safe, Matt whipped the car back into the neighborhood. Sure enough, staked into the yard we had just left two minutes ago was an “open house” sign.
As a believer, I couldn’t contain my laughter. I mean, all my life I have prayed for “a sign” to guide me for this and that, and now I was getting a legitimate 2’x3’ colorful cardboard sign.
Almost tackling the realtor, we ran into the house and screamed “WE WANT IT!” Confused (and probably a little scared), the realtor informed us that the open house hadn’t even started but we were more than welcomed to eat some stale candy and take a tour. We didn’t even need to see it, we knew it was ours and we put an offer in on the spot. Two days later we were officially “under contract.”