Our search for the perfect house started a few months ago. We were young, naive, and completely unprepared for the big bad world of house hunting. Why shouldn’t we find our perfect house? Deep down in my soul I was certain it was waiting for me - two stories, Tudor, 100 years old, move-in ready, close to church and close to the city...in the Minneapolis suburbs...just waiting for us to come along and offer a low, but reasonable amount.

Fortunately I married someone whose grasp on reality is and always will be firmer than my own.

We can never go back. Never again can I pass a house without noticing its charm or, uh, lack thereof. Never again will I be blissfully unaware of terms like “curb appeal” and “sale-ability.” Alas.

Now, 50-some houses later, we have found our first house and purchased it. Throwing caution to the wind we have plunged headlong into massive debt and couldn’t be happier. It’s not in the Tudor style, nor does it boast an enormous fireplace with accompanying marble mantel. But it is perfect for us and, best of all, it’s ours.