Update: After selling our house much faster than we anticipated and then temporarily living with my in-laws, my husband Doo and I are now settling into our eldest’s new home, a cute little bungalow in the disputed territory of either Meridian Kessler or South Broad Ripple, depending on your reading of the boundary line. He still has another two months on his current apartment lease, and we wanted our own space, so win-win for the Wilson clan.
The cool thing is that we’re only a mile from where Doo and I lived when we first became parents. I’m not sure if this is irony or some circle of life nonsense, but I do know we have majorly downsized. When I said “cute” above, I actually meant “tiny.” Like, TINE-EY.
It also means we’ve had to fill and un-fill two storage units and a garage bay in the span of three weeks. My arms look amazing and my lower back aches nonstop. Doo’s body is in full-scale rebellion despite daily Aleve-IPA dosing. He nearly stroked out trying to get a king mattress up the narrowest set of stairs I’ve ever seen. I have to both duck and turn slightly sideways to avoid getting stuck or hitting my head, and I’m not that big of a person. For our broad-shouldered, 6-foot-3 son, the journey to the second floor is both comical and perilous. The threat of accidental decapitation is real! Doo and I are both so tired at night that dinners consist of Jif Peanut Butter straight from the jar and a few stale pretzels.
Anyhoo, the housing saga continues. Where will we be in June? Stay tuned!
Peace out.
