So I just finished paying my second mortgage payment. Holy crap. I mean, it was kind of surreal when I paid the first payment last month, but now, two months in a row… it’s real. I own a house!
Last spring the family that lived across the street from me and my parents moved out of their house. Mama and I looked it up online to see what the selling price was and Mama suggested I call a realtor and look at it. I really didn’t think there would be any way that I could buy a house but our other neighbors hooked me up with a great realtor that they knew and she came and walked us through the house. Since I had never been through the home buying process before I had no idea what to do but my realtor was great. She gave me the number of a mortgage guy and had me call him for a pre-qualification.
Surprisingly enough, my credit score was good enough to get qualified! Unfortunately I wasn’t qualified for enough money to buy the house across the street from my folks but it was an amazing accomplishment anyway. I had basically given up hope on ever being able to own my own home. Basically I figured I’d be that old spinster lady you read about in old books that lives with their aging parents and grows lonely and bitter. Okay, maybe not quite that bad.
Mama and I continued to look for houses in my price range in my preferred area and just a few weeks later I found a beautiful house just a mile up the road from my parents (which also makes it only two miles from my job) for an amazing price. Mama and I met the realtor for a walk through and I completely fell in love. The only downfall… it was a short sale. Short sales are evil. Seriously. They are the real estate equivalent of Satan. I’ve always heard that short sales are annoying and can take up to three or four months to complete.
After one year of waiting, I withdrew my contract on the house. One. Whole. Year.
I looked at other houses during the year but nothing that I liked more than “my” house. Then one day my realtor sent me a list of 30 properties to look at. They were all out of my preferred neighborhood but not so far out to make them prohibitive. I took Mama and Daddy with me and we spent a day looking at houses. The second to last house we looked at was it. My new house.
I told my realtor I wanted to think about it for a little while but before the day was over I called her and asked her to put in an offer. One month later I had the keys in hand and I was a homeowner! I’m sitting in my bedroom in my house right now and I still can’t really believe it. Sometimes I get off of work and I almost turn left out of the parking lot to go home to Mama and Daddy’s house. Then I remember I don’t live there anymore.
It’s weird, after ten years, not living with them. For the first few weeks I was a little homesick. Okay, a lot homesick. I was so used to being able to walk into the next room and talk to Mama or Daddy that I would find myself getting ready to call out to one of them before I remembered that they weren’t here. (Okay, I admit, I still get a little homesick.)
I still have painting to do and I still have stuff to unpack and put away, but it’s mine. Well, it will be in 29 years and 10 months anyway. But for all intents and purposes, it’s mine. I celebrated my 37th birthday this year in my very own home. Every time I think about the fact that I had pretty much given up hope that I’d ever be able to do it, I’m reminded that anything is still possible if I want it enough and work for it. Cheesy, I know, but true.