The 411

We heard the nightmare stories as the real estate market started to slide. But then we found our dream house and fell hard. Those hard-luck stories of houses that never sold, that could never be us, right? Right?

OK, some back story. Jim and I bought our first home in the wonderfully wacky Cincinnati neighborhood of Northside 15 years ago. I loved the first house at first sight. Jim took two visits to warm up. In that Tudor on a private, wooded cul-de-sac, we started our family and literally set down roots. Especially in the front yard, where we nixed some awful shrubbery and invested in some pretty landscaping.

(Somewhere along the line, I started writing like a real estate ad.)

But with two kids--boys who were growing fast and an almost 13-year-old in need of some private space--we realized we had outgrown our cozy beginnings. So, in no particular rush, we pondered moving closer to the neighborhood's burgeoning business district. What could be better than to walk to the neighborhood coffee shop, the library, the indy video store, the indy record store, the indy shoe store, the indy vegan-friendly restaurant--catching the drift?

We put a bid on a great new house (actually, an 1899 house) just as the real estate bubble burst with a vengeance. That was October. Months and months of procrastinating and half-hearted home emptying later, our old house finally went on the market one week ago today.

Take a look:


Isn't it pretty? Don't you just love it? OK, back to the story.

How better to deal with the stress of this life-changing transition than to blog about it, right? I teach journalism, and I tell all of my students that blogging is a sign of real passion, real dedication. Write about something that you obsess about, I advise. So here goes.