48-Hour Days

The house is on the market—officially. Somehow, I expected something to change when the sign went into the ground. I thought there would be something different in the air. Perhaps our neighbors would look at us differently. People might stare as they drive by.

Nothing has happened.

There’s no big fanfare, no barker in front yelling, “Step right up!” In this market there aren’t even Open Houses anymore.

Somehow, my brain unconsciously built this fantasy that as soon as the sign was planted in our front yard, someone would drive by and yell, “Stop! That’s the perfect one! That’s the one we’ve been waiting for!” They’d ask to come in and I’d take the kids and the dog for a walk around the block as they toured our pristine home and fell in love. I’d return to an offer, right there and then.

I know that isn’t going to happen. Truth be told, I’ll be happy if we can sell by next Spring. Now we wait. In the meantime, I scurry after everyone picking up this and straightening that hoping in vain that I can keep our home in “showing” condition all the time. I’m having nightmares about forgetting to put the key in the lockbox and letting the perfect buyer slip away. I’m obsessing. I have a knot in my stomach that started when we first called the realtor and I know won’t go away until we have signed the sales agreement and we have the keys to our new house in our hands. It is going to be a long year.

Posted on Friday, April 18th, 2008 at 3:21 pm
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