I want it.
I knew from the drive-by we did on Thursday, and from studying the pictures online, that this house would have to be falling into a giant crater leading to the center of the earth for me not to want to put in an offer. It is adorable. The showings started yesterday, and the stack of realtors' business cards was over an inch high. I think one realtor (there were multiples there showing at the same time we were there) counted 27 cards, and ours said there were probably five or more who didn't bother to leave a card. We have been told to expect to compete against 20 other offers, and to come in with our best and highest right out of the gate. But this house is so good, it brings out the serious to-the-death competitor in me, and I figure, what is the point of offering if I don't play to win?
First the good parts: the yard is, as the kids say, amaze-balls. It's a third of an acre, which is slightly bigger than the original Park, and it is well-established, to put it mildly. There are giant conifers of all varieties, including what I can only describe as a weeping spruce. I need to do a little research, if I land this house. There are not one but two mature apple trees, which will make a certain professional eater dog think she has died and gone to heaven. There are roses everywhere, and so many other kinds of flowers I lost count. There was a bird feeder over the giant flagstone patio that got constant attention, even while we humans watched. The inside of the house was small (less than 1100 square feet), but more efficiently laid out than even the brick house that was almost twice as big. There were closets everywhere, and the two bedrooms were of good size. The kitchen was new, with solid maple cabinets and a granite counter. The cook top was gas. Unlike the brick house, this one (we call it the "field house," much like the big annex to Folsom Field on the CU campus where we have spent so much of our lives) has two fireplaces, one inside and one big brick one on the patio. The neighborhood is fantastic, old and quiet, bordering on a cemetery. The first time we were in it, we had to stop the car and wait for the three kids to slowly pedal their bikes down the middle of the street, around us. After living in a loud, hectic apartment complex, that sounds blissful.
To be fair, here are the bad points: it is not in perfect condition, and this time we know that going in. The detached garage is in bad shape, sitting at the base of a slope that collected water and destroyed the floor. There is an existing sump pump and signs of water mitigation in the crawl space. A section of the small brick retaining wall is lying on the ground like it just gave up and flopped over. Nearly every tree needs to be trimmed of dead wood, as do all those dozens of roses. The covered section of the patio is in horrible condition, with rotten timbers in the overhang (one spot looks burned), and cracks in the brick of the outdoor fireplace. But knowing all these things, I am eager to go in, eyes open and guns blazing, and win this bidding war. We didn't see any major defects that couldn't last the first winter, while I get established with a career to pay for repairs.
We considered ourselves lucky to win the first house we offered for, even though the deal is dead now. To win two in a row will be unheard of. We will have to fight for a chance to be heard among all those other offers. I can't predict how well we will fare among cash offers in the "next neighborhood to pop" in the metro area. But I am wily and determined. I will catch this prize fish. I need it. I want it. Stay tuned.
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