the house that jack built

When we buy, we need a house in the country.  Yes, definitely the country. Wide open spaces with no traffic noise.  But, I want to be able to walk somewhere.  You know, like a coffee shop or the library.  And of course, it needs to be near the ocean.  Maybe a property with an exterior building for that hope and dream of the setting for my Waldorf inspired preschool.  And don’t forget our price range.  I want neighbors that have kids.  So, I guess I don’t want too country.  Maybe the rush of the city is fairly exciting afterall.  And the old Savannah homes with their walnut hardwood floors, crown molding, and unique structure are so desirable.  But I sort of still want an old farmhouse.  To have goats.  And bee’s.  And chickens.

You can see my dilemma I believe.  My indecisiveness is making this decision quite difficult.  And the foggy mama brain that yearns for sleep does not help I assure you.  Also, to make matters even more tricky carting around two small boys and a real estate agent to view houses doesn’t make for a clear mind.  Tis the nature of the beast I suppose.

What it all boils down to is that every time I am anywhere I decide I love it.  I can’t tell you if this is a fault or an asset.  But it certainly makes choosing a location for a home very, very difficult.  And while my husband truly only wants me to be happy wherever we land when the coin stops spinning, I would love it if he could call heads or tails for me.  I just can’t seem to get it together.  Oh, what is a girl to do.

I will say that looking at houses is quite inspiring.  Some true interior decorators reside in this city and its outskirts.

Also, my little mover announces each house we step foot in, “Hey!  We should live here!  This is a nice spot!”.  Oh, Miles, I should make it so easy.   I suppose my only option at this point is the Ouija board.

Where should these four end up.

Miles and Rowan look doubtful that we will ever decide.