Last night, we put down an offer on a house.
The idea of buying a new house is pretty fresh. It was just last week that we finally let go of the idea of a major, second floor renovation and, in the same breath, acknowledged that our cute little bungalow was not going to be sustainable for very much longer. In a way, it seemed almost serendipitous that an old, two storey, semi-detached house with plenty of work to be done would come on the market well within a price range that would allow us to keep our bungalow, increase our rental income, and, in the future, provide the perfect space to grow into.
There were lots of things that didn't work about the house too. It has no parking. The backyard is cute, but tiny and full shade, which meant any hopes of planting another garden were dashed. The basement is low, which is unfortunate since the only bathroom for the main floor unit is down there. And, of course, everything is rough, rough, rough. There's tens of thousands of dollars of work that needs to be done. We toured the place on Friday. As we sat in our car afterwards, absorbing all the potential we had seen, I dug in my heels, forced our conversation down a cautious road. By the time we went to bed on Friday, we had agreed: there were too many uncertainties, too many compromises.
The house was listed at $299,000. I'm aware that not all of my readers will fully understand how low that is. To put it in perspective, there are maybe a dozen houses listed at $299,000 and under in Toronto. Most of them are tiny 400 square foot fixer-upper bungalows on tiny lots that make them unattractive to builders. The remaining are run-down houses on incredibly busy streets. We knew the house wouldn't go for $299,000. We knew it was a strategy to start a bidding war. But, as we kept thinking about it, as the problems seemed to disappear, as the numbers crunched beautifully, the idea of letting the house go without sending even a feeble offer at it seemed, well... wrong.
I'm sure you can see where this is going. By Sunday afternoon, I found myself sinking into emotional attachment to a house that was not mine. I made plans for the new kitchen layout. I figured out all the walls we would knock down. I dreamed of the closets we would put in and the rugs we would buy for those floors.
I wish I could throw a twist at you right now and say the housing market did surprise me. I wish this could be an excited, happy announcement that we are now homeowners times 2.
I'm ok with it this morning. Content. Ready to move on. What we're moving on to (renovations? further house hunting?), I don't know.
(All photos were pulled from an old listing for this house on Property Guys. Apparently, the seller tried, unsuccessfully, to get rid of the house approximately a year and a half ago. He didn't change anything since then.)