First, let me start out by saying that I am, all things considered, fond of my little house. 
I feel I have to preface everything else that I am about to say by stating that fact.

We did not end up in this house by design.  When we decided to remain in Arkansas after Katrina, and I accepted permanent employment here, we were no longer eligible for rental assistance courtesy of my old job with Uncle Sam.  Thus, the press to find a house was rather urgent at the time.  We did not know the area well (I lived here last almost 13 years ago), and faced with the task of replacing every single domestic possession, I told the agent that I wanted a house I could move into as-is.  I was not going to paint, paper, renovate or fuss in any way.  The sheer task of buying a home full of appliances, furniture, linens, clothing, garden implements, oh-my-god-middle-class-americans-have-a-lot-of-crap, was already daunting enough, and I really couldn’t deal with anything remotely approaching redecoration.

She found me the house in two days.   It’s a quirky little house, and at the time it was exactly, EXACTLY, what we wanted. 

Unfortunately, when we went looking, we were also laboring under some pretty big uncertainties.  We did not know how long Kris would be unemployed (another 18 months, as things played out), and we weren’t sure what we would have left after our insurance settlement after the mortgage on the destroyed home was payed out, or how much we would sell the lot for (an unbelievable amount, much to our surprise).  We didn’t know how far our contents coverage would stretch to purchase furnishings (fairly far, as it turned out).  So basically what happened is that we probably could have afforded quite a bit more house than we ended up with.

 I routinely scan the real-estate section of the Sunday paper, for no other reason than to see what values are doing in our neighborhood.  And, as I perused the listings this weekend, I started thinking. 

You can see where this is going.

First, our house is a tad on the smallish side.  It’s about 300 sq. feet smaller than the house in Louisiana, and we feel it, even with the drastically reduced quantity of stuff our post-Katrina life encompasses.

Second, we have NO useable yard.  I purchased Harry a playhouse for his birthday.  It’s only 4 foot by 4 foot, but we are hard-pressed to find a place to put it.  Oh, don’t get me wrong, we have a yard.  Our lot is not a bad size by modern subdivision standards.  But it is on a 30 degree slope and consists of Arkansas rock and hardwood.  It’s beautiful and no maintainance.  But it is definitely NOT kid friendly.  And not conducive to my husband building his much-desired workshop that would have the added value of making it possible for me to actually park my car in the garage.  A car.  In a garage.  It’s an intriguing concept.  One I have not contemplated for some time.

So, I am sitting there, minding my own real-estate, scanning the local listings, and something popped out at me.

2.24 Acres.

2600 sq. feet.  Site built custom.

Large deck AND tiled patio with basketball court.

 About 5 miles from where I live now.

I look it up online and check the price.   Then I check again.  Then I run the numbers.  If I sold my house for a modest amount more than I bought it for (basically, enough to cover the real estate commission), I could have the house in the listing for about $250 more a month (doable, now that Kris is full-time), on exactly the same mortgage I have now.

Let me emphasize that we were NOT in the market for a house.  I didn’t write the listing information down.

But, since it’s Easter Sunday, a nice, sunny, but cold day, and with not much else to do, we go out driving around.

Just to take a look to see what’s out there, you understand.  Just to get a better idea of what’s in the neighborhood.

Turns out, you can get quite a bit of house in Arkansas for a pretty reasonable amount of money.

But here’s where it gets a bit surreal.

We’re driving around, playing games with Harry and pointing out the For-Sale signs, and Kris says to me “Hey, haven’t we seen that house?”.  I look up.

It’s THE house.  From the listing.  Sitting life-size out the windshield of my van.  And, I will be damned if it wasn’t all that, and boots, too.  (Long story, some of our friends will get the reference.)

We came back home and over Easter dinner I reiterated all the reasons that we aren’t really in the market right now.  We can save more for Harry’s education.  Our neighborhood is very convenient.  I REALLY like Harry’s current room, and it will be hard to find another like it.  And have I mentioned I hate stripping wallpaper?  And what about our new stone countertops, we JUST put in last year?  And what about the bamboo flooring we are getting quotes on this month?

The bottom line is that tomorrow we are going to look at a house.

Doesn’t hurt to look, does it?