The house that catfished us…
Dear Homebody in Progress,
I think to start this segment of my blog, I need to take you to the beginning.
Before my husband and I got married, my husband had saved some money for a down payment on a house. Determined to get me out of my basement apartment, we began looking for a house to move in together. We looked at so many houses. If you live in New York, you know exactly what I mean when I say that rooms the size of a small office were being called a “bedroom.” We saw vintage kitchens, yellow walls, awkward layouts, carpet in the bathrooms, a swing in the basement, and once even a giant hole in the wall that my husband and I immediately dubbed the “murder hole.” Our realtor did not find that funny. Every house had something blatantly wrong with it.
Until we saw our house.
As we pulled up, the curb appeal was unreal. A beautiful pink magnolia tree in the front, a white magnolia tree on the side, giant oak trees in the back, and flowers in every single planting bed. And there were many planting beds. There was an above ground pool with a deck around it. Perfectly leveled pavers. Lattice and wood fencing. And not one, not two, but three water features. One was a large cascading waterfall with a stone walkway over a pond and a gorgeous Japanese maple at the top. Another was by the pool. The third was right off the back door. It felt like a full botanical garden tour, and we were falling in love.
If you have been a homeowner for a long time, you are probably thinking that the maintenance on a yard like this is insane. And you’d be right. But we didn’t know that. We had never owned a home. We had zero experience. I came from Florida where palm trees and rocks in the yard are the norm, and I had never raked a leaf in my life. My husband was born and raised in New York, so you would think he would know, but he had landscapers his entire life.
Inside, we fell even harder. You enter through the back door into a small but cute kitchen with cherry wood laminate cabinets, a green carpet runner that tied in all the colors, newer flooring, and oooh, a lazy Susan! Open concept into the living-dining combo, with a small round table by the “dining room” window, and a two-seater couch with a small accent chair in the living room. The built in cherry wood entertainment center matched the kitchen, which made us feel like everything was cohesive and homey. The downstairs bathroom was large with a big jet tub and natural wood walls that gave it a sunken ship vibe that I loved.
Upstairs was a narrow carpeted hallway with a runner going down the center and art on the walls. Very cozy, very tunnel-like, but that is normal for homes in New York. The first room was the smallest in the house, but it was still bigger than most of the sad little bedrooms we saw elsewhere. It was being used as a workout room, which was obvious from the yoga ball, treadmill, and foam flooring. Across the hall was another large bathroom with a tub-shower combo, linen closet, and a wide vanity. The second bedroom was the main room with a walk-in closet and so much space. The third bedroom had orange walls and green carpet, which would have been a deal breaker for many people, but the room was huge and had a cool bohemian rug.
The basement…well, it was a partial basement framed with cement blocks. Behind the blocks was dirt. It was small and dingy, but hey, the washing machine was inside the house this time, which was a win in my book.
We got the inspector, a family friend, so it wouldn’t cost us anything. He and my husband walked through the house and the only major concern was a large thirty-year-old furnace that took up half of the tiny basement. We got a second opinion from a heating expert who said the cliché, “they don’t make em’ like this anymore. This thing will last you forever.”
You see where this is going...
We bought the house. We moved in.
After a long day of moving, I went upstairs to take a shower. On my way up I flicked the light switch at the bottom of the stairs, and nothing happened. Mmkay.
I reached the top, flicked that switch, and the lights turned on. Turns out all three switches, the two upstairs and the one downstairs, needed to be flipped upward for the hallway lights to work. We lived with this inconvenience for nearly five years.
Then the shower. Water came out of the tub spout perfectly, but nothing came out of the shower head. The diverter did not work. Great.
My husband’s cousin came to see the house. He walked into our living room and took a few steps. Then he said, “your floor is uneven. You didn’t notice that?”
No sir. We in fact did not notice that.
That night, we almost froze in our empty room because our beloved “forever furnace,” the one built like a tank, the one praised by the heating expert, ran out of oil. Fantastic.
Once the rugs, decor, and staging from the previous owner were gone, reality settled in fast. Suddenly, we noticed the scratches and gaps in the “three-year-old” laminate floors. The orange paint on the green carpet upstairs. The stains in the hallway. The cracks in the walls. The wonky front doorway. The nails in the walls pushing out from underneath causing the paint to bubble. The non-functioning jets in the tub. The sagging stone walkway and the sinking pavers near the pond. Weeds exploded from every planting bed. And years later, the biggest hit of all, we discovered that our main floor was being supported by scrap wood and a car jack, hidden behind those cement blocks.
This was “UNNACCEPTABLE!”
Everyone told us to “sell this piece of crap.” Upgrade. Move out. Leave it behind.
Easier said than done. Have you been house hunting lately? The interest rates are high and a mildly adequate house in New York easily costs eight hundred thousand dollars, and even those come with their own issues. If you want a non-fixer upper, forget it. You’re spending at least a million. And honestly, I’m able to stay home with my daughter because our mortgage is manageable and our rate is low. My husband loves that Wolf of Wall Street meme where DiCaprio bangs his chest yelling “I’m not f***ing leaving!” and honestly…same.
Yes, we feel a little duped.
Yes, we feel like Tom Hanks and Anna Crowley in The Money Pit. Literally falling through the floor boards.
Yes, we talk about all the houses we could have and should have bought instead.
But still, I am grateful for my house.
Still, I see its potential.
This house may have catfished us, but it’s also the place where my husband and I are building our family, learning hard lessons, and making memories. It’s a toxic love-hate relationship but it’s mostly love.
So, this is where my Home in Progress journey really begins.
Somewhere between what this house was and what I want it to become.
Sincerely,
