House Hunters

The Bung.

A year ago this week, we began our search for a house.

We started on Tuesday, the day after my grandpa died, so I was counting on that day to lift my spirits. From my education on HGTV, looking at houses should be an adventure. And oh boy was it an adventure.

The only requirements we had were: three bedrooms, two baths, it had to be in a specific neighborhood that we picked out (also the one Andy grew up in), and it had to have wood floors.

The first day we saw five houses, including the one that I LOVED online. I was so obsessed with it that I would look at pictures of it all day long at work. I was convinced that was OUR house. It was third on our list for the day.

The first house was a joke. To get to the "third bedroom" you had to go through the second bedroom. And this "third bedroom" was really just a room over the garage. The house had all the original wiring from the 20's, including all the outlets (which are a different shape than outlets we use now), rendering them pretty much useless. Not the house for us.

The next one was Andy's favorite. It had really good bones. A large kitchen, beautiful original woodwork, and a fireplace. The two downstairs bedrooms were a nice size, but the master in the attic was a disaster. Wall to wall carpet (I don't like carpet), no bathroom, and the ceilings were sloped so that we barely fit. We would have to walk down the stairs and across the house every time we had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I get up at least once a night, usually twice. Not our house.

Then we looked at the one I thought was "ours". As Andy so nicely put it, it "was like spit shining a turd". The pictures were so deceiving. I hated it. I was so depressed.

The next house greeted us with a horrible smell as we walked in the house. UMMM NOPE. I did a running tour of the house, which actually wasn't all that bad. But a smelly house? No way. Our realtor stood by the door the whole time to try to escape the smell. I got even more depressed after this house. We were NEVER going to find a house. (I'm dramatic, surprise!)

The last one was potentially a winner. It had everything we were looking for (even a finished basement!), but it didn't have a bathroom on the main floor. There was one upstairs and a nasty laundry room bathroom in the basement. It wasn't ideal, but it could do. It became our only contender.

The next day we upped our budget a bit (sorry Andy!) and looked at three more houses.

The first was one that had a gorgeous first floor, but the upstairs and basement must have been built for little people. We were hitting our heads on ceilings and door frames everywhere. I am 5'11½" and Andy's is 6'3". We are not small people. No go.

Next up. The Bungalow. The moment I walked in, I knew. Game over. This is the house. People joke about having emotional connections to things, but it's no joke. I was already making moving plans in my mind and strategizing on what what we would offer on the house. They practically had to drag me out of there to go to the next house.

We had one more house to look at, but I knew there was no way I was going to like it. And guess what? I didn't. The basement smelled like cat pee, and there was no backyard. Nope.

We had Andy's parents come look at the Bungalow over the weekend. His dad is a master of all homeowner knowledge and could point out if something was wrong. It passed their inspection and we made an offer on Monday. We found out that the girl who owned the house was getting married, and not only did she own the Bungalow, her fiance owned another house that they were trying to sell, and then they owned ANOTHER house together. She was eager to get it off her hands. Our offer was accepted by noon. The Bungalow was ours.

So, happy one year of knowing you Bung. I have never doubted my decision to make you ours.