Right around the time Char and I got married, I was informed I would be transferring from one office to another halfway across the country; I had several months notice, so we took a week off and headed for the new area to check it out and to look for a house. Both of us were astounded at the price differences and realized we could afford to build the house we wanted instead of picking some suburban cookie cutter that we were sure we’d outgrow within a few years.

This was when we were still talking about having a large family; we bought more land than we would ever need and we bought it away from the general population. It meant driving for goods and services but we agreed it would be worth it to have that amount of space and a house big enough for up to ten kids (granted, we were still in the talking about how many phase; my standard answer was ten, hers was to roll her eyes.) We had the house built while we were back home and then moved, driving across country, when Char was nearly seven months pregnant.

(Don’t do this unless you want to find every damned rest stop in existence between your point of departure and your destination.)

Over the next couple of years TK built a house on the property, and we built another for my parents. Sadly, my mother died not too long after moving here, and TK’s marriage exploded nastily last year, so both houses are sitting there, empty. A few years ago we moved my dad into this house, because he could no longer stand the quiet, and he needed more hands on help. He died last year, and I can’t imagine letting anyone else live in that house.

Living here, where it’s quiet, has been terrific for the kids. They have room to roam, space for dirt bikes, their friends can come here and if the weather is nice we can kick them out of the house and they can spread out. But the older they get, the more they hate living so far from school and so far from their friends. Excursions have to be planned, and because of my work schedule and Char’s teaching at the dojang, they’ve never spent as much time at other kids’ houses as they would have liked.

They grumble about it, but until recently I’ve ignored it. We live where we live, and they can deal with it.

Char and I both read a book recently, and one of the things the main characters complained about was the idea that they had this huge house and their kids were all adults; it wasn’t going to be long before they were the only two living there, and the quiet was going to echo in all those rooms. It hit us: we’re never going to have ten kids, and long before we’d like the kids will go off to college and then onto their own lives, and we’ll be left in a house meant for a large family on land that will at some point be too much for me to maintain by myself.

I still hadn’t thought much beyond that, because there’s time before Kevin goes off on his own. But a few days ago someone who has wanted this property for years (and has made a few less than stellar offers) contacted us again. And the offer this time is one I have to give serious consideration to. The timing is fortuitous; it comes on the heels of us realizing how big this house will be in eight or nine years, on the heels of adolescent complaints of distance between where they live and where their lives are, and mostly on the heels of another major medical bill of which we’re responsible for a huge chunk.

It should be a no-brainer, but I’m not rushing to say yes to the offer. We’ve lived here for 14 years; our kids have reached all their firsts here, and both of my parents died here. There’s a lot to hold onto and part of me doesn’t want to let go of it, ever. Part of me thinks overthinking it is insane. Another part is enjoying torturing the people making the offer, because I’m certain they presumed we would jump at it.

Yes, the torturing part is a definite bonus.