For the past two weeks or so we've been driving back and forth to Vancouver at every possible opportunity to find a house to live in. We had a dozen options. Then we had none. Then we had a handful. Then two. Honestly, I lost count of exactly how many were in the running, but here's a few of the 15 or so.
|Thought so, but bad neighborhood|
|Street was waaaay too busy|
|This put the fun and funky, but no|
|Couldn't get a viewing on this quick enough|
|No backyard for the kids|
|Wanted this house bad, but we were too late|
|We thought this would work until we actually went inside|
|Our new home|
After four days of applications, negotiations and calendar shifting, Adam, our landlord-to-be, called us this morning to let us know that he would like us to rent his house. And unlike last time this happened to us he did *not* call us a few hours later to tell us we actually didn't get the house after all (yes, that did happen to us 3 years ago).
When we applied for the house, we were still looking at a few other places. As you can see from what's above, none of these worked out, but I'm so glad this one did.
The house is a 90's-built, two-story in a subdivision, like 75% of the homes in Vancouver. It's in the Burnt Bridge Creek neighborhood and is nestled between two parks, a school and a creek known as Burnt Bridge. It's privately-owned (which is the only way we ever rent). The kids love it. It's 2 1/2 miles from my new office.
And it has a roof and running water and it's in Portland.
It's time to head home.