I am ready for a house. My house.
I know I shouldn't complain. This townhouse is very nice...but it's not mine. I know that good things come to those who wait...but still.
Pinterest and Houzz are exacerbating the matter in that, no matter how hard I try not to look, everywhere I see houses and projects and ideas. And then I look up and remember that I'm not in my own home where I could paint the walls, the cabinets, the whatever. Where I could replace two of the ugliest light fixtures I've ever seen. Where I could rip out those poor, sad looking Nandinas and the pitiful Hostas - which are singed and burned because they were planted in full sun - near the front door and replace them with some of my favorites.
Despite the fact that there are things I could do - temporary things - I don't want to because I know we aren't here for the long term - but yet, I don't know how long we will be here.
The houses we've seen are ripe with possibilities....if we wanted to outlay the cash to renovate them. And to do that would mean they would have to give the house to us. We've yet to meet an owner that is willing to do so.
I still think we will build, eventually, but the Husband is continuing to entertain the idea while resisting it at the same time.
In the meantime, I sit here - wanting - all while reminding my self to be patient. I tell myself that by rushing the process I will end up somewhere that I don't love. I tell myself that the house isn't as important as the people who are in it...but...still....
I want a house.