Please Sign This Paper.

Oh, and this one.  And this one.  And this one.  And initial here.  Sign here.  Initial the first twelve pages, then sign on page 13.

Sign this.

Sign this.

This paper verifies that you will be making this property your primary residence within 60 days, and that it's not a rental or investment property.  Sign here.

It's official.

We bought a house.

We move all the big stuff this weekend and as much of the little stuff that's left that we've, y'know, actually gotten packed.

The living room furniture here is not going with us.  It's served well (three different families, mind you) for the last 20-odd years.

Our new furniture (because, heaven knows, you can't just go into massive debt to buy a house; you must increase your debt by buying furniture) arrives on Tuesday...and then we can FINALLY decorate for Christmas!

Hubby informed the Realtor this afternoon that he was not allowed to come over and pull out his own sign from the yard.  Hubby would yank the sign and leave it up against the side of the house; Realtor could come get it at his convenience.

Of course, that was until Hubby, in conversation with Realtor, was told he could have a SOLD sign to put on the For Sale sign in the yard.  (Realtor said he'd had to eat too many "SOLD" signs, so he didn't put one up.)

Now I think Hubby plans to leave the sign in the yard for about a week, declaring boldly to the neighborhood that the house is sold.

It's a relief that the buying process is finally over.  We offered on this house the first of September.  It's taken us three and a half months to get here (not due to problems on our end).  Since we're the fourth (and only) in-contract to make it to settlement, I like to think that this was meant to be.

Hubby is now chauffeuring a chorus of indignant felines over to their new domicile, to give them a couple days to get used to the place before we do the big move.  Lucky Hubby.

Meanwhile, I'm sitting here, listening to the Fries' breathing through the monitor, and realizing how weirdly empty my house feels without my cats.  It's too quiet when the kids are bunking with Gramma and Boppa, but it's amazing to me how much my house feels more like home when I still have the kitties around.  There's this weird feline void now.  Here, at least.

I was feeling rather sad as I watched Hubby prepare to drive off, with Minou riding shotgun.

At least I know I'll get to see them tomorrow, and we join them in our new house on Saturday!