Funny story about the house below: we bought it, and we’re moving in.

We know this news probably brings a mix of reactions—excitement about renovations, sadness about leaving our current home, curiosity about logistics, and maybe even an inexplicable urge to do The Carlton.

To set the scene, this all starts seven years ago during our first home search in Richmond in the spring of 2006. We had just moved from New York City and everything in Richmond felt spacious and incredibly affordable by comparison. We wandered through neighborhoods and fell for an older area with roomy wooded lots, great schools, tree-lined streets and kids on scooters.

None of the charming, character-rich houses in that neighborhood fit our budget at the time. The bank wasn’t convinced: I’d been at a new job less than two months and Sherry’s freelance income didn’t register as reliable to them. Even though she was earning more than me, the bank treated her as unemployed, so I ended up being the only name on the mortgage. That cut our buying power in half and steered us toward a fixer-upper instead of our dream neighborhood.

That financial disappointment turned out to be a major blessing. Buying a house well within our means kept us from stretching our budget and allowed us to save for projects and build a healthy nest egg. If we’d stretched to buy a pricier house back then, we probably wouldn’t have started this blog or learned to love renovating the way we do.

Fast forward 4½ years. After a new puppy, a backyard wedding, Clara’s birth and my return to full-time work from home, our cozy 1,250 sq ft ranch with a single full bathroom started feeling cramped. We went house hunting again, hoping to finally land in that dream neighborhood. Instead, the bank’s narrow view of self-employment once again limited what we could buy. But once more, that restriction delivered another great fixer-upper opportunity that let us keep saving for “maybe someday.”

We never planned these homes as deliberate “stepping stones.” When we fall for a house we fall hard—Sherry even thought our first place would be our forever home. But leaving that first house taught us we genuinely enjoy the process of bringing old homes back to life, and that made us open to the idea that we might live in a few different houses over time.

When we moved into the current house, we embraced it fully but kept a more flexible mindset. We soaked up the experience—three Christmases, a book written here, and countless Clara milestones—while acknowledging we might move on someday. Halfway through year three we weren’t expecting to leave so soon, but our years here were rich and meaningful, which makes saying goodbye bittersweet.

We didn’t want this house to be our last fixer-upper; renovation is not only our passion, it’s our work. So while wrapping up the remaining projects here we casually watched listings, visited open houses and waited for a chance in that dream neighborhood. After two previous attempts that didn’t pan out, we weren’t holding our breath—but then a charming, needs-love home appeared in that very area.

It all moved quickly. Before we knew it we were closing on a house in the neighborhood we’d admired for nearly a decade. Thanks to years of saving, we put a nice chunk of cash down so the mortgage on the new place is almost the same as our current one, and the interest rate is even lower. Closing day felt surreal—like Ashton Kutcher might jump out and shout “you got punked!”—but the deal was real and the house is officially ours. We’ve already tackled urgent issues like a leaking roof, a broken furnace, and hooking up the alarm system.

The house hasn’t been updated since it was built about 35 years ago, and in a mostly turn-key neighborhood that meant it was priced well below assessment. It sold for over $100,000 less than a comparable nearby home. A low-priced fixer-upper in our dream neighborhood—70s wallpaper, blue trim and all—was too good to pass up.

Beyond price and location, the house fits in so many practical ways: it’s nearly the same size as our current home (less square footage to clean), it sits on a quiet, beautiful street ideal for teaching Clara to ride a bike, it’s close to family who can help out, and it presents fresh design challenges that have us bursting with ideas. Plus, we’ll finally have stairs after seven years of single-level living.

It seems being on the move runs in the Petersik family—my parents were in their third house at our age and stayed there for decades—so maybe this is our version of that tradition.

We know you’ll have questions—When are we moving? When will we share more photos? What does Clara think?—and we’ll answer them as we go. We still have projects to finish here so we can sell this place, and we’ll balance packing, planning and renovating in real time. Expect a mix of posts about selling, moving, and diving into the new house.

Oh, and these two are the most excited of all—three if you count Ariel.

We can’t wait to share the good, the messy, and the triumphant with you. If there’s a takeaway, it’s patience: this isn’t “the house the book bought.” It’s the house seven years of saving and living within our means bought. Had we stretched our budget earlier, our financial and career paths would likely look very different. Waiting made this chapter sweeter—and who knows, maybe this will be the one we stay in forever.