I'm not much of a finisher. Okay, to be honest, most things I start, whether it's learning to play the trumpet, designing a new piece of furniture, or writing a short story, usually end up collecting dust. I've actually really only finished one thing--and that thing turned out to be useless--nearly useless. It did manage to create $6000, of debt. And that was only the start.
When we moved into our house nearly twelve years ago, it was a mansion to us. Brand new with plush carpet, three spacious bedrooms, a separate living room and kitchen, and a storage area in the back. Our family of four actually struggled to fill up the entire house. But seven years later after Karissa, Janae and the twins joined the family, the mansion felt more like a sardine can.
We put the house on the market and began dreaming of our new, larger mansion. My wife, Jaleen, loved to wander through model homes, imagining our family inside, filling up the empty rooms. She was especially captivated by the closets in the master bedrooms.
"Do you see the size of this?" She asked me during one of our walk-throughs. "We could turn this closet into a nursery for the new baby."
"Yeah." I agreed. "And since we don't have a third car, that part of the garage would make a perfect work room."
So we dreamed. But the impossibility of it all didn't set in until one particular cheerful man calling about our home for sale shouted in my ear.
"Good luck selling it for that price!"
As I shared the less than motivating conversation with Jaleen, I realized we we're trapped.
(to be continued)