There is still SO much to do, but most of what's left will be fun stuff - picking out rugs, painting the bonus room, buying furniture, etc.
The joys (ha, ha) of homeownership appeared on day 1 - wasps in the backyard that needing ridding, loose screws on the playset that need screwed in, leaves that need cleaned out of the beds, light bulbs that need replaced, outlet covers that fall off and need longer screws. That makes the house sound like its in disrepair, but its not. Really, its GORGEOUS.
It's so gorgeous that its hard for me to believe that I live there. I'm having a hard time articulating this feeling I have. My husband and I come from meager homes. My parents were factory workers. His worked for the school district. I knew we were living below our means before, but this home is nicer than any other in our family, any home we've every lived in. We've got these two beautiful, funny, and healthy boys. My cancer is gone. We have great jobs. And it just all seems too perfect. I'm starting to have anxiety that something is going to go wrong. Car wreck. Burglar. Getting fired. Broken arm. Anything.
On the other hand, I also feel like all my hard work has paid off. I have a liberal arts degree. I was fully prepared to be a social worker or ask people if they wanted fries with that. I started out in a non-profit and earned a commensurate salary. And I started out as a freakin' secretary with the company where I work today. But it seems like all of my years of hard work have paid off. My master's degree. My moving all over the midwest. Late nights. Personal sacrifice. Relationship building. All of it. It really feels like I've made it.
So, I vascillate between feeling like I'm living in a dream, like I'm Cinderella at the ball and any minute now the clock will strike midnight - and trying to become okay with being successful. And even as I write that, it sounds smug.
I think I have issues with money where I'm more comfortable scrambling for cash and living month to month than I am with this identity of being stable, and even more than stable, having money. Not that its a lot. It really isn't. Its just more than I've ever had. And it feels weird. Like I don't deserve it. Like its not really me. Like someone's going to come along and say, oh no, not you, we didn't mean this for you. We made a mistake. This is someone else's life.
Maybe I need therapy.