The Game Changer: Part 1 of a 6 part series

“House of Mirrors”

The reason I haven’t written since July 10^th, is that I found myself on a detour for the last five weeks.  The interesting thing I have found about this weight loss year, is that my journey is already proving to be remarkable and not very typical.  And I thought I had gotten lost, REALLY LOST.  

But as in all ‘scenic routes,’ you haven’t really gone astray.  You eventually end up back on the road with more wisdom and clarity.  And you think, shit! That was bumpy and my kidneys hurt, but I saw some cool stuff like irate bears and a chainsaw shack where it is always 2 am.  That doesn’t even make sense but trust me, I’ve listed my symbolic fears.

So much has happened in the last five weeks, that I fear I must put it in a six part series so as not to frighten you all at once.  That way, you can read it like a little chapter book when you feel like a visit with me.  Are you ready for a crazy ride through Sheri’s Brain?

It was a dark and stormy night and it all started with a house…

CUT!!!!   Why write about a house in a weight loss blog?  You’ll soon see why I think they are absolutely related.

There’s this home in our town.  We met in 2009.  I was starting a new email account and had to make up a name.  I used Primrose Lane, because Wart Hollow was taken.  The very next night, I was stumbling upon a real estate site and saw a home for sale in our town on.....yes.......Primrose Lane.  (I am serious.  This really did happen.  The purest psychic moment I've ever had.) This house did not hit me lightly.  I felt like I had been set on fire when I saw it.  It made me break out in a sweat because it was so perfect.  We saw it in person and I almost wet myself because it was like someone had crawled in my head and built my heart out of wood and slate.  I could picture all my family and friend dreams happening in that house, how our life would be so improved by the memories this house could make.  The nurturing it could offer to my soul and to the souls of those I loved.   A place where I could churn butter and perhaps make a car from scratch.

I love my current home.  It is our first and only home, a small cottage where my babies were brought home.  I could not leave this home for any home in the world because my soul is rooted here and I am fully committed to it.  But that was before Primrose Lane, the house that could make me forget my vows. 

We made an offer and the gods laughed because we were so outclassed.  Plus there was no way in hell our house was in a condition to sell.  We needed six months’ notice and a hospital lift team just to fix all the little things we were used to living with, all the normal kid clutter, all the projects we had put on hold as parents do during the Era of Raising Little Ones.  Imagine us, cottage dwellers, thinking we could play in the big leagues. 

We got smacked aside by a high roller whose offer was accepted, and my husband and friends were deflated for me.  But NOT ME.  It wasn’t over.  I wasn’t giving up hope until I saw a U-Haul in front of that house.  For three months, I dreamed about that house and wouldn’t let go.  I captured the photos on my computer so I could have a small piece of it to soothe my greedy little heart. (Gawd…why didn’t I invent Pinterest?)….

Then, it fell out of escrow, up for grabs again like a jilted girlfriend on Match.com.  And you all thought I was crazy. 

We offered again, but were smacked aside even harder.   

Escrow slammed shut.

U-Haul appeared. 

Heart broke.  

I had a pity party but reluctantly took the lesson:  Maybe Primrose Lane showed up to teach me about contentment and making happiness where you were.  On the ugly days, my inner voice heard the lesson: Don’t dare to dream.  You didn’t deserve THAT house.   Aim lower next time.

That voice sucked.

But I wrote a love letter to the owners, telling them ‘I was happy for them.  If they ever decided to move because of (I threw in the good karma of: a promotion or winning the lottery, and kept out the word foreclosure), please give me a call and see if we are still interested.’

As if!  As if I’d lose interest!!!!! 

Sometimes I’d drive by with a friend or my mom (once a year does not define me as a creeper) and I’d say "That’s the house that will be mine someday, but someone has it right now.”  How very adult and magnaminous, magmanimos, magn&^%$u,   big of me.

And then, last year, the phone call came.  The owner was ready to sell and just happened to have my sweet little love letter, and would I be interested in buying?  Oh, if only this was a bike sale on Craig’s list.  The deal would have been completed in two hours.  My heart stopped.  Even my house spiders paused in mid-kill.  I looked around at my home which usually has its mental breakdown around June of each year (again, still in the Era of Kids), and thought DAMN!!!!  We’re less ready than last time.  But before we could even pull the trigger, the owner whom I liked very much, called back to say never mind because it wasn’t a good time to sell.  I was now salivating at the raw steak that had just been pulled out of my pit bull jaws, but relieved I didn’t have to eat it yet. 

Then, six weeks ago, Primrose Lane struck. Again.  For the fourth time in three years.  What do YOU make of this?  

My dear friend sent me the link, announcing it was on the market again.  I raged with exasperation at that house as I said to it,  I’ve moved on, happily making the best my life, LOVING my life, and then you show up at my door like an old boyfriend, over and over, in a nice shirt and smelling like tobacco and honey, with LOTS of flowers just to get me all twitter-pated again.  Don’t expect me to jump each time you announce you’re on the market because there’s no way that I will----

What?  7:00?  I’ll be there.

I thought it was time to tell my husband that I was drinking the Kool-Aid again.  We did the math and by some voodoo fluke in the middle of the worst housing slump, THIS time, we could make it work. Barely.  There would be sacrifices.  I’d have to start taking in laundry, or ironing, or cows, and so it was up to me to decide how badly I wanted it. 

On our way to the Open House, I told my husband, “You know, this is stupid and a waste of everyone’s time.  Why are we even going?”  He said something like, “Because you need to play it through till the end.”  This is why I love him.  He joined my team even as we headed for the cliff.  He signed up and was going down in flames with me. 

As we crossed the threshold, we both looked at each other and it still felt really, really, really good.  Even better this time around.  I petted the granite counter in the kitchen. It was like visiting an old friend.  When we went upstairs to the master bedroom, I broke down and cried into his chest.  Not because of the room's beauty, but because of the five feet of clearance on each side of the bed, so my husband and I wouldn’t have to do our ‘sideways-walk-down-a-row-of-occupied-theater-seats’ anymore.  I could see beneath it and there was nothing but open space. They didn’t have my own shame of dealing with the constant underbed cave where shoes and paperclips and creepy dust trolls go to die.  I saw a potential buyer measuring the window and I said, “Hey, he’s measuring MY window.”  He may have looked at me with a twinkle in his eye, but my return gaze said, “No, seriously.  Get away from my window.”  

“My window”…I said it so matter-of-factly.  It never once occurred to me I might be delusional.

I walked every room, lingered in each nook and pictured where I would churn butter and knit sweaters from my kids’ baby hair.  I also left a little note when I was there, to tell the owner I was sorry to have missed her.  As my mom said, I left my scent all over that house, to frighten the other lions away.   

We made the offer, but so did three other people.  Apparently, someone loved it $70,000 more than us.   I tried to find $70,000 in the couch and only found popcorn there. 

But you see, this is where I shine.  I keep the Torch of Hope lit when others move on to the next village.  This only serves to amp me, to tinge the air with the smoke of competition.  It’s on, baby.  I’ve been down this road, but we are going to do it differently.  We are going to be ready to catch that house when it falls out of escrow. 

I vowed that each of our thoughts and behavior had to look, act and SMELL like we were getting that house.  We were going to get our house ready to sell by doing everything to it to make it absolutely clean, decluttered, repaired and well-staged, so as to leave no doubt to the universe what my wishes were.  This thing will end with me knowing I’ve done everything I can.  Each of our actions had to tip the universe in our favor as we campaigned our guts out. 

As an afterthought, I also threw in the prayer of ‘Give me what I need and not what I want.’ Apparently, it carried more weight than I realized, as I was about to find out later.

There were so many hurdles to cross, but I took them one at a time because I hadn’t been disqualified from the race.  My friends were pulling for me and told me to ‘Just Ask The Universe For The House.’   

Just ask? 

So, I littered the universe with my wish, and started to get our house ready to put on the market.

(Click here for Part 2 of 6:)  http://freddiesmom50x50.blogspot.com/2012/08/the-game-changer-part-2-of-6-part-series.html