Adventures in Real Estate, Part TWO

About two years ago, we sold our house in suburban Philadelphia to move to the wilds of West Virginia. It's not exactly wild, to be honest. It's more of a subdivision, but we do have an urban hunt several times a year to ward off the prolific and evil deer population.

Now we're in the process of selling our West Virginia house so that we can move to suburban Pittsburgh. Because we're stupid crazy like that.

Here in Mo-town our house has been on the market for about a month. We've had three showings and three open houses. All have gone pretty well, honestly. And in some way, the less frequent tromping of strangers in our house is nice. I mean, when we were on the market back in Bala, we were had a dozen showings in the first week. It was insane! I was insane.

BUT!

Just because we're having fewer showings doesn't mean my insanity meter has dialed down at all. In fact, it may even be higher. Because if we don't sell this house? My husband is going to be commuting 90-120 minutes to and from Pittsburgh.

AND!

Just because we're not having showings every god-damned day doesn't mean that I don't mentally prepare for one every day. Get up! Brush your teeth! Now hide your toothbrushes back under the sink! Make your beds! Not like that, NEATLY! Eat, but don't get any food on the table/floor/yourselves! Put your dishes away! Get in the car! Let out the cat! Put the toys away! Don't poop in your diaper! Take this poopy diaper to the outside trashcan! Put the toys away! Don't ask for any food that might smell remotely offensive to any other person in the whole wide world! Clear your dishes! Put your clothes in the hamper! Brush your teeth! Now hide your toothbrushes back under the sink! Good night. I love you.

Exhale.

We're spending a few child-free days in Philly later this week (Thanks DAD AND MOM!) and I'm hoping I'll be able to turn off the internal monologue of chastisement long enough to actually enjoy a thing or two.

And I'm not making a single fucking bed.