Not like gawked over pictures for hours and hours (and hours) and day dreamed about what it would be like to live in said house but, like, actually entered our social security numbers and children’s ages and hit the big old ‘submit’ button.
Jeremy did a happy dance.
I proceeded to freak. the eff. out.
Why? I don’t know. Because I’m really good at freaking the eff out. Because a house will make things real. Because we’re MOVING TO MONTANA IN 68 DAYS and we really, reallllllly don’t want to live in our minivan.
Because I want this particular house so bad I can taste it and I’m afraid we won’t be approved for it because we have a little glitch in our rental history from 2012 when Jeremy leased an apartment down the street and then broke said lease when we decided our marriage would be much easier to work on if we both lived in the same house. (we were totally right, by the way. The sex was great while we were playing ‘separate houses,’ hello, Elizabeth Everdeen, but really, a marriage is a lot easier to work the kinks out of when you live under the same roof.)
Pick a reason, any reason, and you’ll be correct.
If there is a difference between a ‘good’ freak out and a ‘bad’ freak out, this one is definitely leaning more towards the good kind but, a freak out it most definitely still is. In the last three hours I’ve cried, squealed, sent 24 text messages and then cried again. Jeremy and I have prayed. Both separately and out loud with our children, asking for His will to be done in this situation, no matter how bad we want it. We’ve MapQuested and Google Earthed ourselves into exhaustion. We’ve held the iPhones and laptop in all different angles trying to decide if our big ass couch will fit in the living room and made plans for what we’ll do if it doesn’t. We’ve all but caught dinner in the river that runs through the back of the property and shot three or four coyotes who were trying to run up on us. We’ve watched our children play in the front yard through the kitchen window and had a cup of coffee on the front porch watching the sun come up over the Bridger Mountains.
And then we snapped back to reality, put a chicken in the oven for dinner, watched a few episodes of Cold Case, and threw our hands up, deciding to just…wait.
Wait for an answer. Wait for someone else to decide. Wait to see if His will includes this house or another one.
Waiting is super hard. Patience is super hard. Moving to Montana is super hard.
But, also, super exciting.
(and if you're the praying kind, you could pray, too. I'm sure it couldn't hurt. Just sayin')
Happy Wednesday, Friends.
go. do. be.