The Tree House has been under contract for a few weeks now, and we have been frantically searching for the next casa for the fam, and ALMOST hitting the mark with a few places. (But ALMOST really doesn’t cut it when you are talking about where you are going to live at least through your 1year old’s college, so….)
Yesterday we found THE house.
I got girly and ran around taking extra pics and getting teared up, The Hub told Alyssa The Wonder Realtor to “write up the offer.”
The trigger was pulled.
And then somewhere, at the bottom of the whole set up, someone in the chain started to pull at a thread in the fabric of the whole thing.
By last night we were facing the horrifying and heartbreaking fact that it seemed everything was slipping away from us, just when it was so close we could practically reach out and touch it – grab it and pull it to us and make it ours.
So we wait. Half in mourning, half in shock – but not nearly numb enough and touchy like raw exposed little nerves. Moving and existing in a space we were already thinking of as someone else’s and holding our collective family breath.
Praying, crying, clock-watching – hoping we aren’t really watching all the plans we had for our family slipping away out of our grasp and off to a place where reaching them is next to impossible.