When we decided it was time to buy our own home, we hadn't the faintest idea what a journey we were embarking on. First, we looked a lot of houses. A LOT of houses. We saw places that needed thousands of dollars of work to be livable, some that were great but too expensive, we saw townhouses and single family homes, one and two stories, 2 and 3 bedrooms, and then we finally settled on a place we really liked. We made an offer, which was turned down, so we kept looking, but ended up deciding there was nothing better out there for us and negotiated our way into a mutually agreeable contract. We signed paper after paper after paper (etc., etc.), gathered every scrap of personal and financial information that exists (and yet they still needed more), went to the bank multiple times to get things printed, stamped, signed.... We moved out of our apartment, cleaned it, turned in the keys, and set up camp with my husband's wonderful family, with all but our essential belongings sitting in boxes out of reach. And now we wait. The closing date used to be a glimmering light at the end of a tunnel, so to speak, but now the sellers need to live there a little longer. And I just really want my house. It will be worth it in the end, I know, but buying a home is a long and frustrating venture. Especially with a six month old in tow. But I am confident that by Christmas, or maybe by my son's first birthday, we will finally feel like we have a real home and order in our lives again. Well, some measure of order anyway.