It's all Travelocity's Fault

This past weekend, we finally got around to putting our house on the market. We have about three months to sell the house before we are going to move to Texas, as most of you are probably aware. Selling the house is one of those "contingencies" that builders and/or mortgage folks require in order for us to close on our new house outside Dallas. You know, that whole paying two mortages and having nothing to put down on a new house sometimes might be construed as a hurdle to getting the deal done.
Over the past several weeks, Kim has been working like an absolute dog trying to get this house ready to sell. Unfortunately, the market has slowed considerably since last year, when if we even listed this house on the MLS, it would have probably received three offers prior to anybody even looking at it. Such is the life of the real estate market. So instead of naming our price and watching people trip over themselves to overpay for our little slice of heaven out here in suburbia, we actually have to market this thing effectively and keep it looking good every day in case one of those realtor folks decides to bring somebody out to take a look at our home.
There are several inhibitors to this reality. One is the tornado, we lovingly refer to as Lauren. For some reason, it is critical to her life that she removes every book, stuffed animal, toy, game, puzzle, instrument and art supply from its home every day at some point. This may be a symptom of her being three or just one of the many penances that I continue to be forced to endure due to my own youthful carnage, but either way, it never ends. Turning your back for more than three minutes is basically akin to setting off a pipe bomb in the dollar store. More crap than you ever realized existed sprawled out over a 1600 square foot minefield. Most likely, not the kind of environment that "sells the house for you."
The second challenge is Abby. Fortunately, she has fewer toys than Lauren does, but Abby has the propensity of relocting things througout the entire property. Generally, these are just balls and rawhide bones, but certainly they add to the clutter. Wilson was more apt to lovingly bring in dozens of rocks each day and leave them strewn about the house in whatever fashion he felt was the most aesthetically pleasing. Sadly he is no longer with us, but from a home marketing standpoint, a 108 lb Yellow Lab may force some potential buyers to hurry their way through some portions of the home tour.
Hunter is pretty good at this point of cleaning up after himself. Well that might be a stretch, but he doesn't make quite the same quantity or quality of mess as his sister. He is gone to school during the day and is less likely to get out dozens of trinkets and whatnots than his sister might be. When he has friends over, they are forced to go through every toy he has ever owned to get a full inventory of what hijinks can cause the most damage, but lately, we are sending him to their houses more than having his friends over here. He has a couple of science kits that can destroy an entire three acre area with all the junk he leaves around after starting his experiments, but I think Kim has mercifully already packed those items in boxes and hauled them off to storage--we can only pray.
More than Hunter, Lauren, and Abby combined, however, are my own slovenly ways. I really do try to make an effort, but 36 years of being a completely useless slob do have their way of endearing themselves. Leaving things strewn about the house is a learned skill, and my kids probably didn't come up with it on their own. Those of you out there who have had the extraordinary opportunity to live with me for any period of time will have no difficutly coming up with your own version of the attrocities that comprise my ability to endure living in a mess more than most humans could conceive. Kim continues to make progress with me, but let's not kid ourselves too much.
But in these trying times, and with Kim becoming more and more nervous and edgy about getting this house sold, we have all dug in deep to help keep the house clean and presentable. I think that our house will sell relatively quickly. It is in a beautiful, young community, the house is in great shape, great colors throughout, attractively landscaped and all of the things that I believe people look for when purchasing a home. I don't profess to be an expert in this arena, but my understanding is that there are probably a few do's and don'ts when it comes to selling one's home.

1. Don't point out any bodies buried in the back yard. Even if there is a perfectly good explanation, for that strange hump in the middle of the yard, do what you can to reduce the questions that might spring forth. Nobody who is considering purchasing your home really wants to know that Aunt Bess really wanted to live amongst the Bouganivillea for eternity, regardless of the video you had her make prior to her demise. For the sake of resale, I would recommend letting the purchasing family discover this treat many years down the line.
2. Any of those "funny-old" neighbors who tend to hang out at night shooting off rounds of live ammo at the passing coyotes are generally not the best representatives of what the neighborhood has to offer for an incoming young family. Let them find out the eccentricies permeating from the bong-stenched porches of the guy next door on their own time. It might even be a good opportunity for you to invite said neighbor to lunch (probably in his '79 Gremlin that usually is parked in the street) when the realtor gives you the heads up that he might be stopping by. Again, this is more of a guideline than a rule.
3. Things that are important to you, sentimental to you, remind you of happier times, may not necessarily translate into fantastic marketing tools for potential buyers. Frankly, some of the things that fit into this category, regardless of how they might have been acquired, can be the things that turn off potential buyers the most. Some examples would be shrunken heads, your son's first stool sample, a mole that you had removed (really any thing that has come from your body would probably fit into this category--those of you who have a placenta saved for posterity sake, should consider a short-term relocation), halloween decorations in February, and any lawn ornament.

The last of these don'ts is the one that has caused the most challenge in our particular lives. As I have been reduced through four plus years of marriage into a "yes, dear. Whatever you think, dear." waste of space, we have acquired a couple of Garden Gnomes that actually are on display in full gnome regalia every day. It is our own dirty little secret, and the main reason (in my estimation anyway) that we don't invite friends over to the house very often. We do get our share of family visitors and for rednecks like Krissy and the Boys, garden gnomes are a status symbol in a good way--sort of like moving into that double-wide. Kim insists on keeping these little freaks littered throughout the yard and I can do nothing but roll my eyes, make my sarcastic remarks and endure.

It isn't the gnomes I fear so much as what they represent as the long-term state of my life. Many years from now, the gnomes will represent that old comfortable friend to me. They will have been a part of our homes for generations and I will have grown to enjoy their company as Kim refuses to speak with me about my prostate health anymore. The fear that I have is the slippery slope that we are heading down at a relatively young age. It starts with a couple of little 12 inch freaks nesteled beneath the desert fauna. Before you know it, I have a fleet of flamingos welcoming every guest that darkens my doorway, ceramic frogs leaping each other down the driveway and thirty or forty reindeer each Christmas stapled to the roof. I have seen this happen, and Kim comes by it naturally. Meemaw is well on her way to having a nick-nack farm in Oklahoma and they are still rolling the junk out of Kim's Grandmother's house two years after she passed away.

This is the fate that awaits me. The cruel fate of this gnome army and all of his minions. I look forward to the day that I can relate and my senses have left me for so long that I am numb to the absurdity of such things. Until that time, I will continue to bite whatever is left of my tongue as we remain in this house for the next thirty years. The echoes through the halls of the house for the next several months will resonate with oohs and ahhs about the color scheme, the open spaces and the lighting that embrace each couple as they enter the front door, only to be followed by the scared, confused and repulsed responses as they rush out the same door after escaping the freakishness of the back yard and the stump-like statuette that assaulted their once enthusiastic senses. The only thing I can count on at this point is Meemaw shipping a boatload of flamingos my way after reading this. Life is sweet bliss