Well, I talked myself off the ledge about my “real estate home invasion” last night, and by this morning had developed a “well at least someone wanted to see the home” attitude about it all. I had even thanked the Lord for bringing someone and he reminded me that the woman who ended up buying our home in middle Georgia walked through the house while Jonathan was in the midst of snaking something mysterious from one of the bathroom drains.
But tonight I have determined that if another Realtor pulls that stunt I’m going to, in the words of MY Realtor (who is awesome), lock the doors and move the couch. I’m going to do it because from the moment my mackerdoodle set foot in the tub until the second she fell asleep, she has been terrified that someone was about to walk through the door. She sat on my lap and stared out the front picture window. She didn’t want to walk through the living room to her bedroom. She CERTAINLY didn’t want me to leave her brother in the living room while I tucked her in (as is my normal evening routine).
She looked up at me with big eyes and said “Daddy? Safe.” I asked her if Daddy made her feel safe and she nodded. When I explained that Daddy was at work, she said “Papa? Safe.” I hugged her and rocked her and let her hold the baby’s hand in her bed until he kicked and rolled from the discomfort of her iron grasp. I don’t know if she was protecting him, or if he was protecting her, but I have a feeling it was the latter. I did everything I could think off to re-assure her, but in the end I had to conclude that even a potential (and hypothetical) full price offer with no closing costs isn’t worth putting my daughter through this sort of insecurity in her own home.
The worst part of it is that her staring out the window has given me the heebeejeebies and now I’m sitting here regretting that Jonathan had to sell all of his hunting rifles and my Glock 9mm and saying to the Lord, “Daddy? Safe.”