July 27, 2010 is now a landmark in the life of yours truly. I became a home owner. Or, as my brother Anthony corrected me: “You’re a home BUYER, Amanda. You won’t be a home OWNER until the thing’s paid for.”
So, yes. For the next 30 years, I have the opportunity to work on achieving “home owner” status. The thought of being 61 and living in the same home is frightening and completely unrealistic because I’m typically in a constant state of change and indecision, so I’ve accepted the fact that I’ll probably never be a home owner. I guess that’d make me a home squatter?
Nevertheless, I love the new casa. It is pretty, comfortable and not 80 years old, and has loads of opportunity for me to make it uniquely mine. I’ve had one weekend so far, and have a whole lot more to do still. It may take 30 years to get settled afterall.
My sweet daddy has been a world of help. On most days, I’m pretty self-sufficient when it comes to things around the house, but I tell you…I don’t know what I’d do without my daddy. He’s the strongest, most organized, patient and hands down, the hardest worker you’ll meet. These aren’t the only reasons I love him, but when it’s time to move, these traits sure do help.
But, I guess one negative of having him around this week is that he’s making me helpless. I swear, my abilities to make decisions and open jars have gone right out the window. He’s just too awesome. I told him last night that he’s the reason I haven’t married yet. When it comes to “being a good man”, my daddy’s set the bar so dern high that nobody ranks. Atleast nobody this girl has met yet.
If he wasn’t such a good daddy, I’m certain I would’ve married any ole skank years ago.