We’re vagabonds.
We’re rolling stones.
But now it is time for these rolling stones to gather some moss.

I could make all sorts of poetic proclamations about the way Mr. Mo and I have lived for the past decade, both together and individually. The truth is not particularly glamourous, but it’s filled with well-worn suitcases and the need to constantly double-check my shipping address when online at shopping stores I frequent (Amazon has an address history on me tighter than the US government). We were both always people on the move, whether it be because of a job, school, a visa SNAFU, or the occasional itch to go someplace new. If I only count my moves, I moved just shy of a dirty dozen times in the past decade. Yes, that is eleven times. I have multiple memory lanes to travel down and each place had its own little endearing quirks. Mr. Mo has moved across the world and back. Bobo is even international! Mr. Mo likes to remark that she has pooped at Buckingham Palace. Even if we parked in a place for a bit, we are both travelers. Between the two of us, we have been to almost three dozen countries.

I’m used to living in a place where people hear your area code when giving out your phone number and say “Where is THAT?” I am good at settling in quickly, even if the boxes don’t get unpacked by the time I up and move again. As long as I have a library card and I know the routes to my favorite grocery stores, I feel like I am home. I do carry some residue of the places I lived before on me. My Planet Fitness still shows Fairfax, VA as my home gym and I never get rid of a library account unless they kick me out (DC is QUICK to do that).

The cat settles down pretty quickly too and she comes out of whichever empty moving box she has made as a makeshift fortress. This happens more quickly now with Mr. Mo. Nothing rivals their love for each other.

Mr. Mo and I both go wherever life takes us. Up until now, there has been too much life to be lived and adventures to be had. Now it’s time to settle down. Our needs are changing.

But why now? Isn’t this the worst time to buy?

Yes.

Interest rates are sky high, inventory does not meet demand, and houses are still being scooped up as soon as they are listed. Even in our little corner of Ohio, the market is hot.

Despite all of this, one fine day in March, Mr. Mo came to me and said “It’s really likely that we’re going to stay in this area for at least two years due to my work situation. I think we should stop throwing money away on rent and look into buying a house. Even though the market is rough, it still makes more sense to buy. I want to buy something in good condition, but I do not want to buy at the high end in case the work situation changes and we need to move again at the drop of a hat.”

To which I said, “Prudent financial decision? Talk dirty to me…”

I have the personality of a paid off ten-year-old Toyota Camry, which just so happens to be the car I drove until she would have cost more to fix than she was worth. I (responsibly) went in for an oil change before I left DC for Cincy. At that point, the mechanics told me she had a power steering leak. I asked, “Can she make an eight-hour drive?” They said, “Sure.” And off I went with the Camry to Cincy where we parted ways a little bit later. Her name was Camille and she was actually fourteen. All of this is to say that I prefer practical. I do not need flash. I feel comforted by sound, reliable investments.

I was not stressing about this search. We did not set out with the intention of finding our dream home. All we had in mind was a home that was in good condition and that with maintenance and perhaps a renovation project or two, we would at least recoup any money we put in if we were to wind up having to move in just a few short years. School districts and many other stressors were factors we did not have to include for this go-round of house hunting. SPOILER ALERT: I think the home we found is a good solid investment and I am excited for it. I like the growth it will bring as a financial asset. I like the foundation it will serve for us to build a happy home.

Just because I was as stress-free as one can be during what can be the most stressful shopping experience of one’s life, does not mean the whole household was chill. I married my husband because we complement each other. My default emotional state is verklempt. Even when I am trying to keep it together, I never can keep my crazy tucked in all the way in – you know, nice, neat hospital corners. I do not anticipate that this home renovation will be neat, tidy, hospital corners either. Mr. Mo is usually Mr. Cool as a Cucumber. This was an absolute role reversal. He was so stressed and running so many different calculations for each home we toured. He was all over the place too. For one house he would comment “That kitchen is not so bad. We could put on an addition.” At the next house he would say “Well keep in mind we cannot do any major renovations soon.” We toured dozens of houses, put in offers for several, and we were under contract for one that turned out to be a lemon (major problems in the home, seller would not budge).

The real estate market is a bit of a game. Mr. Mo refused to play the game at all. We found the home we wound up buying just as I was thinking to myself, “My God! I am going to be doing this all summer!” Mr. Mo may have been busy crunching numbers in his head, but I was willing to play ball. I wrote a heartfelt letter to the owner explaining how blessed we would be to take care of the home. We were outbid, but the letter won us the house. What do you think about THAT Mr. Spreadsheets? How do you like them apples? I can get our real estate agent back on the phone to confirm that tidbit if you do not believe me!

It’s not quite the Goodwill Hunting scenario when Matt Damon got the number, because Mr. Mo is the Matt Damon of this scenario. He is the one who did all the math. The inside of his brain must have looked like that chalkboard where Matt Damon figured out the theorem. But I am the one who got us them apples. Them apples in the form of dated wallpaper depicting a fruit basket in the kitchen.

Even stuck-in-his-head-all-about-the-numbers Mr. Mo can attest that this home feels meant to be. The four bedrooms, semi-finished basement, and 0.35 acre dog potty yard suit our needs perfectly. We closed right before our first anniversary, which gave us an added reason to celebrate.

We eloped on the day of the Kentucky Derby last year. This year we were off to the races running errands all Derby day. As we were waiting in line for the Goodwill drop off, I pulled up the Derby odds on my phone, thrust it at Mr. Mo, and told him to pick his bet for who would be the winning horse. He picked Mystik Dan, who we then watched win about two hours later. Mr. Mo is always pulling off stuff like that!

We celebrated our anniversary a day early by having our first dinner in our new home. Before the dinner, we decorated a shrine with fruit and flower offerings, lit incense and prayed a small house blessing. We plan on having a proper blessing when both our parents visit in July.

Is it blasphemous that we conducted a Hindu blessing and went to the next room to have a surf and turf dinner? Clearly, we do not practice our faith traditions in an orthodox manner.

We laid out an array of purple and orange flowers for the gods. I insisted on red roses for our anniversary table in a nod to the Derby and to my former name. Before I was Mrs. Mo, my middle name was Rose. I dropped the Rose and shifted my maiden name to be my new middle name. Billy told me I would still smell as sweet. ; ) And I also told Mr. Mo that it’s ok that I drop the Rose, but it just means he has to get me roses from now on for all special occasions.

Mr. Mo may have picked the correct horse this year, but I knew I was betting on the right horse for a lifetime when I married him last Derby day.