Tuesday, July 22, 2014


I read a post today from the talented Lindsey Mead that struck a chord with me, specifically at the end, where she admits: “It isn’t that I’m paying attention because my life is magic. It’s that my life is magic because I’m paying attention.” Yes! Yes! I thought. Exactly that. I’ve not been writing much lately, mostly because summer has taken over our days, but I was also feeling a little self-conscious about my posts. What do I even write about? Things are pretty much the same ole, same ole around here. We continue to explore this new-to-us city, we occasionally host friends from Chicago and experience Austin through their eyes, and we march, no, saunter to the lackadaisical beat of the drum.

Yet, here I am, happy, content. And somehow it makes sense. Being a transplant makes me acutely aware of our surroundings; I am constantly looking for things to resonate with us, desperately seeking validation that yes, Austin is it. Because of that, my eyes are wide open, noticing the big and small, the details that confirm what we’d hoped, that Austin is good for us.

Things are still so new that this city and our discovery of it is all-encompassing. Every new friend made, new route home becomes a significant mark on this blank slate. And noticing these things creates the extra in my ordinary. Like how the fawn gallops gracefully and quietly behind her mother to hide from me on my morning run, how the merest sight of rain after its absence for over three weeks has me dancing a euphoric jig, and how the playground feels pleasantly cool under the shade of live oak trees despite the blazing sun.  


Of course, just as Lindsey says about her kids, a lot of this has to do with noticing how my children experience this world, seeing how everything unfolds before their fresh, curious eyes. Summer is already a magical time, but with kids it’s even more so. I’m often moved by their infectious delight with ice cream to indulge in a scoop of my own, to listen to the chorus of cicadas in our backyard as they play the season’s anthem, to jump in the pool with my girls even when I dread the work that comes before (swimsuits, hair, sunscreen) and after (shower, hair, lotion, hang suits and towels to dry).

Lindsey’s post also mentions how she loves watching her kids sleep, and I have to say, there’s not much that tops that for me either. I think it’s funny that on a day that I read this, our evening was all about sleep—too much and too little rolled into one. A busy morning led to a delayed naptime, and while waiting for them to rise, I also crawled in beside my 5.5-year-old, who took a rare nap, and might have dozed off for a few minutes myself. But when I sent My Guy in to rouse the little one, he never came back. Something told me I’d lost him to the sweet folds of slumber too, although who can blame him? Laying beside sleeping children is pretty magical, after all.

 A family that naps together…

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The thing about summer is that even if the kids nap late, there’s plenty more daylight with which to entertain them when they’re wired from too much sleep. Naturally, on a 95-degree day, the pool was on the agenda, but seeing that fatigue was nowhere in sight even after a prolonged stint in the water, we decided on a pajama walk around the neighborhood, where we stopped and talked to a neighbor and waved at a man who waved back while paragliding above us. What we also didn’t expect to see, because the girls were often in bed an hour before this time everyday, was the sunset.

We turned onto a street we seldom used, and My Guy gasped. Lo and behold, just above the hills beyond the pristine lawns and Texas-sized homes was the brilliantly round, orange sun. It took less than three minutes from the time the sun hit the horizon to the time it disappeared completely into it, but there we stood, holding each other, mesmerized by the evening’s final act right before our eyes. 

Had we not noticed, it would have been any other ordinary evening. But we did, and that made all the difference.



Wednesday, July 9, 2014


There’s never a dull moment around here…

This week, we’re playing hosts to friends from Chicago. They’re our second guests; the first arrived from Chicago two weeks ago, and we’ll be hosting another in a couple of weeks. In between all of that, we also had a little Fourth of July pool party with our local friends, and we’re planning an ice cream social to get to know our neighbors in the next week or so.

All that to say, things are a little summer-hectic in the Landed household, which means we’re busy in a really good way, with friends old and new bridging the gap between our previous and current lives. It’s been wonderful to see familiar faces on this side of the world, and while we’ve been showing them some parts of Austin that we know, we’ve also ventured into unknown territory with them. Tourists, all of us.

It’s both exciting and affirming for us, because the more we see of this city, the more settled and happy we are with our decision to be here. Sure, we miss Chicago like crazy sometimes, but that’s a given. You can’t be someplace for 16 years without it having a hold on you in some way.

Thankfully, we have plenty with which to distract ourselves, and here are the highlights:

The weather
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After years of weather that fluctuates quite a bit from day to day, it’s nice to see that, even if it’s a bit warmer than I like, it’s consistent here and that summer is summer—hot and sunny. When it’s this predictable, it’s easier to establish a routine, like explore the outside in the mornings, stay in for the afternoon to avoid the peak heat, and swim in the evenings. Not a bad way to enjoy the season, if you ask me.



Fourth of July


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I asked My Guy to get some kind of 4th of July decoration, and he came home with a flag. I suppose that works. Together with the trifle that the girls and I made, we were all set with the festive making. Yes, we’re all about subtlety here, folks.


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  Good times


Sparklers now, fireworks later in the evening, although Little Miss and I were the only ones who drove to see it; the other two passed out in bed.


First time for everything



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A toast to our long-distance friendship

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Summer, the ATX way – water and more water

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My brave little explorer



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Drinks at sunset (while My Guy puts three kids to bed at home – he’s sweet like that)

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The girls’ first time at the Texas State Capitol. They wanted to see the inside of the big domed building; I wanted the air-conditioning. Everyone wins.

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The House Chamber and Gallery

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The Lone Star


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Outdoor BBQ and live music – can’t get any more Austin than this

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Friends since high school, and now business partners

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This is accompanied by fancy cocktails; it’s our kind of double-date night

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Yes, the meat was as good as it looks. I like that the restaurant, Freedmen’s, is housed in a historic building, built by freed slaves. Hence its name.


Tonight, there will be some sunset drinks again, and we hope to hit a different nature trail or two with our friends before they leave this Friday. I love that, despite the hot season, we can still always find something to do here. Everyone eventually learns to adapt to their environment, after all. Burning sun? Find shade and water. And BBQ, apparently. Clearly, we’re adapting well.

A flurry of activities in the heat also means the girls and I are now a deeper shade of brown and My Guy is, well, a little less white. Growing up in Malaysia, having fair skin was prized above all features –“Look! She’s so fair, so pretty,” and sometimes I catch myself cringing at my darkened arms until I remember where I am and snap out of it: Wait a minute, who cares? Now, I look at our skin that is turning a deeper, richer shade with each day, and what I see is the evidence of a summer well spent.

And that is a beautiful thing.


Thursday, June 26, 2014

This is a harsh place


“Texas is a pretty harsh place,” said a native Texan – My Guy’s friend – when he stopped by our house for dinner one evening this week. There’s brutally hot weather, craggy limestone, humid gulf stream, wild animals (deer and bunnies don’t count, apparently), and drought. I also added quietly to myself, and too many Republicans.

While what he was saying wasn’t news, he also said it with a lot of pride, as most Texans do. I looked at My Guy and gave him the I can’t believe you brought me to Texas look, followed by the I’m going to kill you glare when his friend went into the particulars of critters we may have to watch out for when innocently traipsing along a nature trail. GAH!

I’m trying. I really am. After I wrote the post about pushing myself to confront my own irrational fears to model a healthy relationship with nature for my girls, I have gone out of my way to step out of my own comfort zone to do the things from which I would normally shrink away. And so I say yes to treks in forest-y greenbelts, wade in natural bodies of water, and continue to cultivate our yard, digging into the soil with my bare hands, holding my breath with each event, wondering what I might find.

So far, I have only discovered beauty. Harsh, yes, but in a beautiful way. In a way that says, yes, we get it, we’re kinda screwed, but we’re going to use the hand that nature dealt us and we’re going to make something of it. And that it did. Maybe that’s why Texans are so damned proud of their country state – despite the odds, they don’t just survive this place; they own it.

We’re not quite there yet, but, like I said, at least I’m trying. My girls, on the other hand, may love the trails and anything to do with water, but that’s about it for them. When it comes to our own yard, I think they forget it’s even there. Perhaps having the first part of their lives confined to the walls of our Chicago apartment without an outdoor space to call our own had shaped them to believe that their play zone belongs indoors. The only reason they’re outside now is for the pool, so for four days a week, you might spy them outside in their swim gear. The other three days, including the days I’m home all day with them? They’re inside. Underfoot.

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I make dinner; they play Chutes and Ladders.


I remind them to go outside to play, and they say, “no thank you.” I coax them, and they respond with “I don’t want to.” Even the shiny quarter with which I bribe them if they helped me weed has lost its luster for them. And now I’m running out of ideas.

Even though I didn’t have a yard growing up in the heart of Kuala Lumpur, my parents expected me to play outside, and boy, did I. In fact, I remember my mom having to search our neighborhood to find me and threatening to spank me in front of my friends because I almost never went home on time. I was too busy playing with four of the eight girls who lived next door, a Chinese family who we suspected was trying really hard to have a boy but never succeeded, but hey, more playmates for this only child. We played catch in football (ahem, soccer) fields, looked for tadpoles in puddles after a thunderstorm, played pretend games in alleys, mastered hopscotch and jumped over ropes made with rubber bands on sidewalks, and hurled ourselves off concrete stairs and down to the ground to see who could jump off from the most steps without hurting ourselves. If you’re wondering, no one ever got hurt, but I can’t imagine allowing my girls to do the same now—isn’t that funny?

There wasn’t much nature in that concrete jungle, but, as you can tell, we made it work. From age 7, I roamed the urban landscape as freely as one would in the country, but here we are, with our fenced in yards and manicured lawns, and rarely do I see elementary aged kids walking by themselves in our neighborhood. Or anywhere for that matter. But my challenge is worse: my girls won’t even leave the house!

These days, they’re perfectly content to color in their little creative corner that I’ve carved out in the living room just for them, and lately, they’ve been obsessed with this magnet game that they’ve had since Little Miss was three. They’ve showed little interest in this game for over two years, and now they collaborate to create different things, based on cards that show them where the pieces go to create a ladybug, a giraffe, a crane, a house, a person on bike, etc. A couple of days ago, Little Miss decided to come up with her own design and showed us this: “This is me and Pickle with a hat on our head; we’re sitting on a high stool at a restaurant, eating together.”

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I have to say, I was impressed.

I suppose there is an advantage to playing indoors. They finally play with their own toys now, especially ones that have been neglected for ages. Because there’s strength in numbers, they both choose to decline my invitation to go outside, they choose to play inside together, and more often than not, it results in a couple of hours of harmonious existence in our family. Last weekend, when My Guy and I were outside with our yard work, they stayed inside and entertained themselves for OVER. TWO. HOURS.

You don’t understand. They usually orbit around me when I’m home, which means they’re rarely further than a few feet away. They also crave attention, throwing pleas to “look at me, look at me” every five minutes so I can see them do the most ordinary things, like stand on one foot (yaaaaaaay) or jump off the bed onto their bean bag (I guess that’s better than jumping off concrete stairs). Instead, they spent that particular afternoon crafting together, which means plenty of tiny, colorful pieces of paper glued to a larger piece because three-year-old Pickle is now fascinated with experimenting with scissors and glue, then later Little Miss moved on to reading while her sister played pretend with her army of fuzzy buddies, and towards the end, they immersed themselves in the magnet game.

It was a miracle.

photo 5 (21) surrounded by books is this girl’s favorite state

So here I am, encroaching on the edge of my own discomfort for their sake, and there they are, retreating to their own comfortable, air-conditioned micro universe, oblivious to the world that’s happening outside. But as much as I want to push them, I have to respect this world they’re unconsciously building right now, away from the harsh Texas sun and away from an ecosystem that easily scares these once urban kids (“Look mommy, ants! Aaaaargh!!!” – I’m sadly not exaggerating).

They’re looking to each other for support, they’re finding that what they have is enough. That they will be okay as long as they’re together.

I suppose, before they’re ushered out to explore a harsh world, this too is an important part of their discovery.



photo 1 (73) Why picnic outside when you can picnic inside?

Thursday, June 19, 2014

Making new friends; finding my village

The house is quiet. My Guy is back in Chicago for work, and the girls are at school. I check Facebook – nothing too terribly interesting. I try to concentrate on my work, but without hard deadlines this week, I find my interest waning. Powerpoint, as it turns out, is even less exciting than Facebook.

Back to Facebook again. Still nothing. I “like” several pictures and go back to my own reality. I feel restless. Maybe I should make the bed. Oh, I already did. Dishes are also done. I look outside and ponder working on the patio, but I’m deterred by the 90-degree heat. I fiddle with the things on my desk. I check Facebook again. What am I looking for? Why the restlessness?

I know the answer, of course. For the first time since we moved to Austin, I feel alone. I’m missing my village - the friends and life we left behind in Chicago. When we first moved here, I knew a total of one person. And I have never even met her. Stacia, a fellow blogger, and I became virtual friends over four years ago, when we both had infants and toddlers and we both wrote to process the struggles (and wonders!) of early motherhood. Though we’ve never met, I’ve always felt a certain kinship with her.

She was one of the three bloggers with whom I’d confided when I was going through a hard time with My Guy over three years ago. She had been there for me, through email, and I could never forget her kindness. Here we are now, in what seems like a different lifetime, watching our now preschool and elementary school kids playing together and our guys talking tech like they’ve known each other forever.

Our families met our second week here, and later, she had graciously invited us over for Easter. It was our first holiday away from our village in Chicago, but her family had made us feel at home. It was wonderful, in fact. We’ve since hung out on several other occasions, and I’m grateful that our initial virtual exchanges have transformed into a genuine friendship in real life.
Then there is my ex-Chicagoan friend, who was introduced to me via email before we moved here. She moved here with her family six months before we did. A friend from my Chicago neighborhood had thoughtfully, sweetly decided to make the introductions so this other ex-Chicagoan and I would both have someone we knew once I arrived in Austin. I loved her gesture, and upon meeting the ex-Chicagoan, it made perfect sense to me. Having someone “from back home” here with me means I don’t have to provide context each time I’m homesick for a particular Chicago thing. She gets it, of course. Her older daughter and mine also get along famously together. Both dramatic, both girlish -- another jackpot.

I also met another transplant. This time, it was through a mother runners’ Facebook group. We had agreed to meet for a trail run near us, and we’d hit it off. A mother of two from Boston who also works from home for herself, we trade stories about metropolitan living compared to our life here in a smaller city, we share motherhood and house-hunting pangs, we talk about healthy activities, and we get excited about electing Wendy Davis as the next Governor of Texas. I find myself looking forward to my weekly runs with her.

So there you have it. That’s all the friends I have here in Austin, which puts me at a grand total of THREE. As an introvert who often craves silence, I’m not looking for 8 BFF’s and 125 acquaintances to fill up my time. A few solid, dependable (preferably non-judgmental, because who has time for this shit?) friends are all I need, but the older I get, the harder it feels in acquiring new friends. Everyone has so many different priorities – work, kids, hobbies – that finding the time and energy to cultivate friendships become a struggle. Not only that, we have to make sure our personalities mesh, and that our kids and partners also enjoy one another’s company. SO. MANY. FACTORS to consider.

While I don’t have any issues with striking up a conversation with strangers (because all friendships have to begin somewhere), working from home doesn’t help. On days when My Guy isn’t also working out of the same home office that I am, I find myself going an entire day without a single word with anyone. Except to yell at the cat for flopping himself on my typing hands or hacking a hairball at my feet. I’m not the only one craving company, apparently.

However, I’m not Ms. Social Butterfly looking for endless entertainment and meaningless engagement. Most nights, I’m perfectly content with a good book and some ice cream. Or whiskey and TV if it’s the weekend. But when this solitude that I once craved no longer brings me serenity, but rather, isolation, it can start to feel somewhat claustrophobic.

I remember starting a Meetup group four months after giving birth to Little Miss to meet new moms like myself. I made the effort to organize playdates and events to meet women who could understand this particular brand of isolation that comes with new motherhood. There, I met one of my favorite friends, and she’d become a part of my village back in Chicago. But forming a Meetup group now feels so arduous. After all, when you have to make small talk with a bunch of people you don’t know, it can be downright draining. At least it feels that way to me. Hello? Introvert, remember?

In my last neighborhood in Chicago, I could walk down my street and easily bump into neighbors who feel like family to me, but it took many years of finding just the right mix of people to create this wonderful village.  Now that I no longer get to walk anywhere, not even a convenient store, and I have to get into a car to drive for miles to reach any destination, the isolation feels even more oppressive.

Yet, I’m not completely disheartened. I am fully aware that this is part of the process. The old friends I had were once my new friends too, and look where that took us? I know it will take time for my village here to form. It’s just that patience is so not my thing.

Maybe that’s why gardening is not so easy for me. I look at the landscape in my yard and recognize that some of these plants that appear to be bushes now will eventually become tall, beautiful, Pink Velour Crepe Myrtle trees.

CrepeMyrtle now

The people who planned this knew that it would take years for their vision to take place. But to get there, we have to water them diligently and spend our time weeding and shaping them now. I spent three hours this past weekend in my yard doing just that - weeding and shaping.


Because that’s how the garden grows. And with the same patience and diligence, perhaps my village will too. 


maybe someday

*    *    *

When was the last time you made a new friend? If you’re a parent like me, how do you make new friends? Do you have a village? If so, how did you find/form yours?

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

The unbelievable story of how we got our house


The Neighborhood
Even before we left Chicago, before My Guy had ever set foot in Austin, before I knew what the city looked like outside of lively 6th Street and the lake because that’s all I remembered from my visit 19 years ago, we had already chosen a neighborhood to target for house-hunting. It met most of our criteria - top schools, rolling hills, mature neighborhood with trees that are older than us, easy access to many of the things we love, namely food.

When we finally arrived, we drove around this area that we only read about and knew, without a doubt, that this was where we wanted to be. We left Chicago to experience something radically different, and we also wanted to leave the noisy urban life behind and spread out enough so we can’t watch our neighbor’s TV from our own living room window. We knew we couldn’t get that living close to the heart of the city so we chose a more residential area, 20 minutes away. I hate to admit it, but you might as well call it a suburb, despite its Austin address. BUT. The beautiful, hilly landscape and the serenity more than make up for it. We couldn’t have everything after all. At least not in our budget.

Our agent warned us that the homes in our price range in this area were older and smaller, unlike the contemporary ones with colossal columns and a room for every need. But we were okay with that. We’ve seen many HGTV’s “House Hunters” episodes where people walk into a grand foyer with ballroom staircases and just “fall in love” with the house. We aren’t those people. 

He also warned us that, because of our budget, we would be getting the “entry-level” homes in a pricey neighborhood where McMansions were common. He tried to steer us towards other areas, where our money would actually get us a home twice the size, on the other side of the highway or on the south side of the city, closer to downtown. But they wouldn’t have these hills or the schools. After years of living in a pancake-flat city and making the decision to move here for great public neighborhood schools, not ones she has to test into across town like she did in Chicago, I wouldn’t compromise on either of those.

The Search
Once the location was decided, the hunting began. We looked at four homes the first evening with our girls and they were excited by all of them. They’re so easy to please. A house! A yard! We’ll take it! We were a little more picky. While they were excited by the space, we saw things that turned us off: too much carpet (we didn’t want any), too little light, a weird layout, repairs that would bankrupt us, too close to the highway.

And the smell. We found that the older the people who lived in the home, the mustier the scent and those with pets were worse offenders. One seller chose to use incense to mask the animal scents of one of the houses, but the perfume was so vile I nearly gagged. The animals themselves would probably have smelled better. Even though the house had potential and it came with a pool, I couldn’t see past my nose. I wanted to get out of there. Stat.

It wasn’t until My Guy left town for work that I walked into a house that I really liked. Of course. And because he wasn’t here to help me make the decision, I hesitated on the offer and apparently, in this market, sleeping on it overnight meant losing your chance completely. Once we decided to make an offer, our agent said they already had multiple offers and accepted one within 24 hours of being on the market.

It was heartbreaking. Naturally, because I couldn’t get the house, I obsessed over it. I called it the house that got away. And I kicked myself for not acting quicker.

Then we saw a few more houses that either fell far below our expectations or had perplexing features, like the one place that had its own sauna. In Central Texas. Where they could’ve saved money and achieved the same effect just by not turning on their AC.

But one issue we kept encountering was that, because we wanted older trees in a mature neighborhood, the trees, as majestic and gorgeous as they were, often towered over the homes and blocked out the light. I would walk into a house and feel completely underwhelmed by the darkness of the living room.

I’m all about light. A sun-drenched home is very high on my criteria. It wouldn’t be a problem in most newer homes with the grand foyer and cathedral ceilings as developers in the last two decades figured out that natural light would add to the appeal, but not so with the older homes. And that was a huge challenge for us. I could not live in a house with a perpetual need for artificial light.

The House
So, on that fateful day, when we walked into a house bathed in light, I was smitten. It was not perfect, but it was a great start.

Let’s back up. It was the middle of the afternoon, the girls were in preschool and My Guy was just getting over an ailment that had him down and out for three whole days. Our agent had a list of four houses to show us so My Guy took some medicine, and we made our way to the appointment. A house popped up in our email while we were at our first showing; it just came on the market. We asked to see the place, and our agent made the call. Then he warned us that it was a “For Sale by Owner”, which meant no seller’s agent, which also meant the owner himself would be showing the place.

After four places – all underwhelming, all with some kind of major issue we had to fix – we made our way there. It was at a location that we hadn’t considered because it was a little off the beaten path. Same schools, but just further away. I wasn’t a fan of not being able to walk to school, but when we had to drive through pretty scenery, up steep inclines that ended at a cul-de-sac, my heart was racing. It was already promising. The location certainly felt right.


on one of the routes to the house


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we also drive along a winding road, past barns with horses and cows and through a canopy of trees



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the hood


And when I walked into a sun-drenched living room, I could barely contain my excitement. Light! Light! Light! my heart sang. The kitchen was completely updated, as was the master bath, even though the home was nearly 30 years old, and as people who aren’t handy with DIY projects, we knew we weren’t up for fixer uppers. And most of the major renovations were already completed in this house. A big plus. Then we walked into the yard, and that’s what sealed it for us. The landscape, the pool-- we had to have this house.

One small (but really big) issue: It was above our budget. We had no negotiating power because we were already going waaaay past what our max was, but we knew that a house in an ideal neighborhood like this was hard to come by and we had to do everything we could to at least try. And boy, did we.

Lucky for us, the owner was there so, My Guy, being the people person that he is, started a conversation with him. As did our wonderful agent. It turned out that they were all in Austin’s entrepreneur scene at some point. The seller and my agent even knew the same person and exchanged stories. Then the conversation evolved into My Guy’s line of work and the seller was eager to help him connect to the people he knew. We talked about our move here, our family, the schools, our love for our respective communities. We developed a rapport.

Then the seller, who was in his fifties, said the magic words: The price was not as important to him as finding the right people who fit the community and someone who could close quickly on the house because they had already purchased and moved into another home in an airpark. He and his wife were passionate about flying, and moving into an airpark with their own hangar and an airstrip in their backyard was their idea of living the dream, and that’s why, even though they had no plans to leave this home, they had to jump on the chance when it presented itself to them.

We felt the same way. The seller invited us back to see the place a second time that evening with the girls, and so we did. After we placed an offer on the house within two hours of viewing it. He met the girls and sat down and chatted with us some more.

That night, knowing that we would never win a bidding war, I wrote him a letter explaining why we would be the best fit, hoping that the connection we made would give us an advantage. The next morning, to our surprise, he responded. It was the loveliest reply that gave us much hope. He had basically said he loved meeting us and thought we would be the ideal buyers; he had discussed with his wife that they would do everything they could to make sure we would have a fair chance in getting the house. So he gave us a counter offer to meet in a sum that would be fair to them as well.

In this market, a great house would just have multiple offers, and the seller would pick the highest bidder. End of story. The one with the deepest pockets often wins. Ours, as suspected, wasn’t the highest bid. Not even close. We deliberated a little because it was stretching us beyond our limits and then some, but we also knew a chance like this was rare. That we were still in the running at all was a miracle. And so we checked with our lending company, received the green light and placed the counter offer.

It was accepted immediately. HOORAY!!!

But the miracle didn’t end there. Our agent, who continued to work hard for us even after securing an offer, convinced them to leave us the major appliances. He used the “help this young family have a great new start in Austin” speech, and it didn’t take much convincing. As it turned out, they were generous souls in the first place, and in the end, they left us with nearly new and pricey items like the washer, dryer, refrigerator, stove, and even the flat-screen plasma TV above the fireplace! What’s more, we found out later, they also left the outdoor furniture, pool supplies and safety fence, a bistro table and chair set for the eat-in space in the kitchen, and various gardening tools.

It was like we hit the jackpot! We expected to buy all of the items above ourselves (except for the TV) when purchasing a home, and we braced ourselves for a huge financial hit. But all of this that they left us came at the price we offered. They were extras. Perks!

We were agog. Was this for real?

And more than that, we now also have their friendship, evident in our visit to their new home at the airpark. During the buying process, the seller had also met with us, prior to closing, to walk us through the house to help us understand some of the upgrades they made and showed us how to use certain things around the house. He shared with us what he did to maintain the pool, the yard, the house. He even paid for a session of “Pool School” for My Guy so he would learn about pool maintenance.  And true to his word, he sent the names of his business connections to My Guy. He also invited us to a party so we could mingle with our now neighbors and fellow entrepreneurs.

It was - still is - unbelievable.

Especially since, during the week of closing, we found out from our seller that one of the backup offers included a much higher bid than ours and 100K down. Ours wasn’t even a fraction of that. The fact that he chose ours over that was baffling.

But My Guy and I, who live in a world where connections matter more than credentials, knew what we had to do the moment we met the man who would eventually sell us our home. We had to establish a connection because we knew that’s our best (and possibly only) shot.

It’s rare in the home-buying process these days that buyers meet sellers, and I can see why. It’s easier to just go with the highest bidder. Let the money do the talking, and you’ll always come out ahead. But this man and his wife wanted to pick their buyer because they loved this home and they loved this community.

And thankfully, they picked us, the people, not the money. Of course we couldn’t help but have a Sally Field moment, “They like us, they like us, they really, really like us!”

That same evening after they accepted the offer, they gave us their garage code so we could go back to check out our someday home again. It would be our third visit in two days; this time, without his presence, and we were amazed at his trust in us. When we arrived, it took the girls all of two minutes before they were out of their clothes and in the pool.

Their someday pool.

My Guy and I still couldn’t believe our chances that we were watching our girls from our someday patio, at our someday house, admiring (but also a little intimidated by) our someday yard, dreaming about the someday things we could do to this place.

And now that the someday is here, we are immensely grateful and still reeling from this story.

How did we get so lucky?

 sunlitlivingroom (1)

it’s a work in progress - we still need to paint the walls and update the built-in cabinets and shelves - but here’s the sun (and the cat) in our living room




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