Because I don’t have a husband to take Benjamin to the store and pick out “mommy’s present,” I think I’ll buy myself a house. Not that I feel sorry for myself. But because I can. And that’s pretty cool.
I’ve been shopping all day. Browsing. Dreaming.
We moved a lot when I was a kid. The instant the realtor opened the front door to a potential house, my siblings and I (the bottom four of six) would plow past her and run around the place like crazy. No formalities, no adult bull shit conversation, we would just run into every single room, placing dibs on our new potential bedrooms. [click to continue…]
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