Home sweet home

Being a parent has certainly reinforced the adage that patience is a virtue.
So has the buying and selling of homes, however, although — like being a dad — there is some fun along the way.

It seems it was so long ago when we purchased our current home, but it was only eight years ago. That’s not a large amount of time when looking at the proverbial “big picture,” but considering Grace was only a few months old when we moved in — and Zachary wasn’t even around yet — there have been oh-so-many changes since that summer of 2005.

Now we’re hoping to move again, though to go into all the circumstances involved would be both not in our best interests as well as premature. Let’s just say we’re looking for another Worthington residence to call home for the next several years — and making that big decision is going to be no easy task. There are a lot of fine homes in Worthington, to be sure, but considering our price range, it appears it’s going to come down to what place is going to require the least amount of updating and need for immediate maintenance or repair.

Of course, we want the kids to like our new home, too. No, they don’t get a vote in where we wind up, but they do share their opinions when we look at places. Most of the time, they’ll exclaim something akin to “Let’s move here!” That is, they’ll tell us that when they’re not running from room to room and doing their unintentional best to wreak havoc with the looking-at-the-home process.

A classic example of this took place on Monday, during the first of two house showings. As is usually the case, we came upon a room with no shortage of toys. Grace, who usually knows better than to touch (never mind play with) things, was in admiration of a dollhouse she hoped would come with the home if we purchased it. Zach, meanwhile, despite multiple warnings before entering the house, was picking up toys and sorting out his favorites. We told him to stop, but sometimes the occasionally listening-challenged lad is just too focused on — say — finding a toy Nerf gun and firing a dart across the room and at the Realtor. As usual, we tried to take a pleasant yet scolding tone with him, while the Realtor laughed and seemed to think the mishap was somehow cute. (A classic response to these sorts of things: “Oh, I remember when my boys were small.”)

At the next house we saw, things were better somewhat, although there were still playthings to be found. At one point, I even think the Z-man remarked that he liked the second home better because it had better toys. I would also be remiss in mentioning the large backyard and trampoline that kept G and Z amused while we talked with the Realtor (not the one that was targeted with weaponry a few minutes earlier). I intermittently checked the children while also trying to remain engaged in a conversation about something or other. I think it’s fair to say that Becca asks a lot of the technical questions, while I simply look at how long the driveway is, how much mowing is required or how difficult the gutters might be to clean. (This is a small exaggeration, but these are important considerations on my list, anyway). There was also a brief distraction when Zach examined a Dolly Parton-themed pinball game in the basement and pointed out Dolly’s most-known assets, but overall, I guess that showing passed without significant incident.

Then, on Tuesday, Becca and I looked at two more houses, this time without the kiddos. And while it was definitely quieter — and easier — to ask questions and get a lay of the land without them around, it somehow wasn’t quiet as fun. While I’m sure it wouldn’t have been kosher, for instance, for Zach to play the drum set that we saw inside the second home, it would have made for a few moments of hilarity (followed by, naturally, a talking-to — not the fun part).

I’m not sure how many more houses we’ll walk through before reaching the ultimate verdict, but I guess I hope it’s not too many. After all, opening up a bottle of wine and toasting to an exciting future beats looking at house after house any time — even if the cork from a just-opened bottle accidentally strikes the Realtor.

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