We just sold our house.
In 19 hours.
(Only 5 of which were actual business hours.)
To the first family that saw it.
For full asking price.
I’m floored. Truly floored.
This past week was probably the worst of the last six that we’ve spent getting the house ready to put on the market. This was some serious stress. (And, by the way, it was Spring Break. Which means that my kids were home. All. Day. Long.) Painters, repairmen, last minute touch-ups, more stuff to storage, cleaning…and the Crazy Stager Lady who rearranged all our furniture and gave us a ginormous (and expensive) list of “suggestions” to make our home more presentable and desirable to a potential buyer. The to-do list kept getting longer, even as we were crossing things off.
For example, Crazy Stager Lady took everything off our bathroom counters, moved one of our bronzy rustic trays from the kitchen to the master bathroom, and told me to find some bronzy rustic decorative accents and a towel. (Oh, and get rid of the brass planter on the side of the tub. Crazy Stager Ladies hate brass. It’s so 1989.)
So one night between piano lessons and soccer practice, I sprinted to Hobby Lobby, picked up a couple of nice bronzy rustic accents, then jetted next door to JC Penney to look for a towel with red and gold tones to draw together the master bedroom and master bathroom in order to create the luxurious effect of a master suite…and downplay the extraordinarily dated (as in 2004) brushed nickel bathroom hardware and glazed tile shower.
Like I said. Crazy. Stager. Lady.
But JC Penney does not have any pretty accent towels with red and gold tones. They have cotton. Nice, soft cotton. In nice, solid colors. Mostly pastels.
So at this point, I’m about to lose it – and I haven’t even started dinner. I run back to Hobby Lobby, find some fabric and gold fringe, then I go home, throw dinner in the oven, grab the hot glue gun and safety pins, and I make my own freakin’ accent towel.
Thank you. I like it, too.
Take that, Crazy Stager Lady.
The painter came on Wednesday and Thursday, cleaning lady came on Thursday, Crazy Stager Lady came on Thursday to tweek and take pictures and tell me that our front door needs to be re-hung so call her handyman because we don’t want a buyer to think we have foundational problems, do we?
And, by the way, we didn’t paint the playroom. We agreed to paint over our beloved red family room and our very smudgy office, but when the painter estimated an additional $800 just for the playroom…um, no. We just couldn’t swallow that. We justified our decision to Crazy Stager Lady by stating that 90% of families looking at houses the size of ours in a neighborhood like ours will very, very likely have small children. And what parent of small children wouldn’t love this?
So we dug in our heels, crossed our arms, and refused to paint it. Although I did agree to paint over the stenciled butterflies and flowers in Meghan’s room. That was my concession for not painting the playroom. And I didn’t have to pay someone to do it. I just spent 5 hours doing it myself. Five hours of my life that I will never get back.
Flutter by, butterflies.
I also cleaned out and rearranged Meghan’s room (according to Crazy Stager Lady’s instructions) – which Meghan HATED – but I promised that once the house was sold, she could do whatever she wanted with her room. She still hated it. Threw a huge fit over it.
So the listing went active on late Thursday afternoon. Thursday night, we had a request for a showing on Friday morning. Friday morning we were notified of three additional showings scheduled. By 1:00 on Friday afternoon, I got an email from the buyer’s agent saying that her clients had found the perfect house, and they were submitting an offer.
(I’ll bet they love the playroom. And the fake towel.)
Seriously. That’s how fast it happened.
They offered a little less than our asking price, we countered with our asking price (HELLO?!?! First day on the market!), and by Saturday morning, we had a signed contract.
It’s so crazy, and totally unexpected. We were bracing ourselves for weeks of cleaning and running out of the house on a moment’s notice. But that’s not how it happened.
Now, between you and me, I have been really grumpy during this whole process. (Shocker, I know.) I knew it would all work out eventually, but the getting-there just about killed me – and made me very grumpy. I don’t deserve such an easy resolution. Grumpy mamas should have to suffer until they work through their grumpiness. They need a little bit of natural consequences. Temper tantrums don’t get you what you want. That’s just how life works, isn’t it?
You would think. But somehow – inexplicably – God is ridiculously good. And generous. Merciful, forgiving, patient, gracious. All that. Even when I’m grumpy.
It’s so ridiculous. And so humbling. I’m not complaining – not at all. I’m just dumbfounded. And incredibly thankful.
And much, much less grumpy.
(At least I was until late this afternoon after spending the day looking at rental properties. I’ll tell you about that later. I’m trying to get out of grumpy and back into thankful.)
For now, I’m just sitting here with my jaw on the floor and my to-do list in the trash.