Signed, Sealed, Delivered

The mountain of paperwork sat ominously before us. On the god-knows-how-many pages of undecipherable legalese, it was written, in essence, that we would be signing our lives away for the next thirty years. Yes, of course, we will pay the mortgage. Yes, of course we'll end up paying 2.5 times the loan amount in the end due to interest. But short of winning the lottery, or sitting Danny at the slot machine for the next 10 years or so, we have no choice.

So we signed.

And signed.

And initialed.

And signed.

One hour later, my index finger had a dent in it. My pen was squeezing out its last bit of ink. We were both exhausted. But we'd done it.

We'd signed. And in a week or so, we will be homeowners.

I am excited, scared and nervous all at the same time.

We will have a home. Our home. Our sanctuary, where we can unwind after a hard day, eat dinner together as a family, and go to bed every night knowing that this is our own space.

Two weeks ago, the prospect seemed so far away. And now, it's just around the corner.

A new home, a new family, a new life. That is worth almost any price, including a sore finger and a good chunk of our paychecks.

We're ready for it. Bring it on.