Yesterday Chuck crossed his final T's on paperwork weighing in at "Anna Karenina"-sized, and so now we have a house.
The deets: a 3 bedroom, 2 bathroom, 3 level home built in 1923 in West Duluth. It has a 2-car garage, mostly wood floors, a decorative fireplace that doesn't work, a deck with a sliver of a view of the St. Louis Bay. The main level is a wide open space with a huge kitchen suitable for roller skating. I love that it has an "upstairs," and a "downstairs." I love that the refrigerator makes ice, and emits drinking water. It is quirky and cozy.
It is actually the first house that we looked at when we started house hunting. And then it was the house that we compared every other house to. (Well, except for those times that we looked out of our price range at gigantic mansions with secret stairways and haunted basements). In the month and a half between our first and second looks at the place, it had gone from a 4 bedroom to a 3 bedroom with good results. It is hard to explain how this happened, suffice to say that the previous owner wasn't afraid of turning a closet into a bedroom and building temporary a wall here and there. Also: The basement used to be a tuck-under garage. It will henceforth be referred to as "The Rumpus Room."
After the official business yesterday, Chuck and I went to the couch store to buy our first piece of furniture and in the process learned a bit about the likes and dislikes of the other. My likes include red, leather, and soft. Chuck's dislikes include overstuffed furniture that resembles a Sumo wrestler wrapped in fabric. We took into consideration what damage Toonses do with his back claws and 30 pound frame. We fell in love with a white leather 7-piece couch straight out of the Jetsons that would fill almost the entire living room, then showed great maturity in getting something more practical.
Yesterday I dropped my first hundo at Target, buying toilet seats that don't feel like you're sitting on a one of those Hemorrhoid donuts. Then I spent a few hours at the house, moving in the first load of Rubbermades, cleaning Cheerios out of the sink, and doing laundry in our very own laundry machine. I vacuumed the steps, listened to music, and made a list of quirks in a little notebook:
There is no overhead light in the dining room.
The sink gurgles when the washing machine is running.
There are no outlets in the upstairs bathroom; No mirror in the downstairs bathroom.
And I totally fell in love. I didn't want to leave at the end of the night. Fortuitously, our move coincides with the downstairs neighbors adding a Casio to their band.