After the plane landed, we stocked up our hotel room before connecting with Husband's friend. As we followed this guy down some back roads to his house (and awaiting dinner), I realized that I kind of wanted to sob.
Remember, of course, that I'd never been to Texas, and I was now getting my first glimpses of the fine state. But these roads? These roads were taking us through a neighborhood of dilapidated houses and abandoned storefronts. There was also a large compound that appeared to be some sort of Mexican dance club, but I think it had been painted by blind children.
Back at the hotel that evening, Husband asked me cheerily, "So, what do you think?!" I burst into tears, mumbling through the sobbing, "I'M...sniffle...I'M...uglycry...I'M DEFINITELY OPTIMISTIC!"
The day after we landed, we met with the realtor at about 9:30, and saw houses nonstop until about 1:30. During this first day, I learned that bringing children into a stranger's home can be dangerous. Perils included:
1. Reprogramming their cable box.
2. Rattling their fish tanks.
3. Stepping on their laptops, which have been left on the floor.
4. Running a smooth pattern into their floor after incessant running in circles, accompanied by shrieks proclaiming, "BROTHER'S GONNA GET ME!"
5. Playing with their Rock Band equipment.
6. Trying to steal their toys.
7. Begin eaten by their strange dog.
8. Locking us out of their house.
9. Using their bathrooms.
When all the houses had been seen, we took a drive into the city of Fort Worth so that I might prove to myself that Texas was not simply made up of taco stands and Ford trucks. The city was...small, but I didn't expect much coming from NEW YORK and all. ::buffs knuckles:: It was at this point that Plus One started his mantra: "BUT I DON'T WANNA MOVE TO TEXAS." I alternated between wanting to hold him tightly, and cry us both to sleep and wanting to just stuff him in the trunk.
Out of necessity, I created the Texas! Game! where you gain points for every cow head you see out the window as you drive along. Guys: there's a LOTTA cow heads in Texas.
Before heading back to the hotel, we also had our first DON'T MAKE ME PULL OVER! moment when my eldest BIT my youngest. Hard. We totally pulled over. And it was everything I thought it would be.
This is the day we found the house of our dreams. However it's also the day that we lost Plus One's Teddy and met a metrosexual realtor we refer to as Chad, pronounced Shhaaad, or ASSHOLE. (He's the dude selling us the house of our dreams, and he's kind of into himself. I feel like I really want to post a picture of him here, but since we don't have the house JUST yet, I feel like this would be incredibly stupid. So.)
Our house was one of the last we saw, and it was the first we were head-over-heels for. Husband and I soon decided to put in a solid offer, so we drove back to our realtor's office to do the paperwork. It was during this drive that Plus One said, "BUT WHERE'S TEDDY?!"
You guys, I have no fucking clue where Teddy is, and for all I know, he high-tailed it out of town upon witnessing our wrecking crew tearing up the suburbs of Fort Worth. In the end, however, Plus One is convinced that Teddy is waiting for us in Texas at our new house. And I am convinced we will be buying a replacement Teddy forthwith.
After chasing my two boys around the real estate office (which included simultaneous pooping on their behalf, inspection of a wayward fire extinguisher, and a crashing of the meeting room because I WANNA WATCH BUBBLE GUPPIES!), we collapsed back at our hotel room. Where we got a text at 9pm to say that we had just embarked upon a bidding war.
In the morning,
I'm really glad we went, because Plus One finally started to get excited about our move. And it gave me the opportunity to acknowledge that Texans wear long sleeves and pants in 80 degree weather.
While we were at the zoo, our realtor called to say that they accepted our offer. But BECAUSE of the bidding war, we had to promise to close on the house an entire month earlier than planned. Which means Husband has had his phone attached to his ear for five days straight. Which means we have to pack our house in exactly two weeks. Which means I'll be working my part-time job and writing gigs in the midst of the move. Which means arranging for appliances to be delivered and utilities turned on. Which means getting last-minute prescriptions and doctor visits and sedatives for the cats.
And for me.
We packed up our shit at the hotel and headed back to the PLANE OF DOOM. And to avoid another bathroom debacle, I ended up running from the plane back to the building (as jet engine drove by) to use the potty before liftoff. Which was smart, despite the whole dodging-planes thing, because there was some fierce turbulence during takeoff. There was also more screaming, of course, but it may or may not have been coming from me.
So. Now we're home. I have two weeks to pack. I've filled exactly three boxes.
But the house! It's great! And it will be worth it! I think!
(SOMEONE HELP ME.)