The day has come and this has been gently placed in our Georgia red clay soil:
Billy and I fell in love with this neighborhood 16 years ago. Newly engaged and looking for an Atlanta suburb to live we found this little slice of heaven. It was a sparkly new neighborhood. Carefully we walked all the lots, chose the perfect pie shaped piece of property and quickly decided on the Portand B floor plan with added sunroom (my art studio now). I think it took about 4 months to build the house we've now raised 2 children, 4 cats, one silly dog, 2 dwarf hamsters, one lizard and one turtle in. It has been a dreamy little cottage. Many laughs, many tears, many nights walking the halls with gasy babies and tender ears, many sleepovers, many dreams discussed and built in these walls. I get a tiny bit emotion about leaving. The house is tiny. It is. But it doesn't really bother me as much as it seems to others. We use every square inch and then some. I personally think a giant house with "pretty rooms" is a total waste of money.
For 15 years now I've passed a house just like the one below. Dreamed of what it looks like inside. What it would be like to move. And then it happened. It's a wonderful story really. And if we sell our house and get to move, I'll share the whole story. For now I can't quit staring out the window at the sign in my yard. My tummy is swirling with anticipation. Fear I suppose too. That we won't get to move. Billy and I have already decided that should it not work, we are staying put and buying a lake house instead a few years down the road. So I suppose either way it's all good.