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The Home Inspector

[featured on Perissos 10/7/16]

I thought we were going to live there forever. But a week after the new windows were finally installed my husband took a new job across the country. After crying for days about leaving our best friends and favorite grocery stores, I focused all my energy on selling our beloved 90-year-old home.

We went room by room, writing down 63 things that needed to fixed and finished before we could sell it. The hole in the wall where my son smashed the doorknob every day. The moldy splotch on the ceiling where the tub above leaked. The bent screen door. The missing rungs on the back porch. The peeling paint.

We spent our weekends and evenings working on that list. Tacking up pieces of trim, painting over scratches and stains on the walls, replacing mirrors. We couldn’t fix it all, but we tried.

We sold the house very quickly to great buyers with no legal or financial issues. All that was left was the Home Inspection.

photo by Annie Spratt via

photo by Annie Spratt via

They say that Home Inspectors aren’t looking at any messes, just the house itself. That’s what I’m afraid of. When I sell a home I want to tip toe behind the Inspector and explain everything: why the floor is a little slanty in the kitchen, why the walls aren’t plumb in the renovated attic. I want to wow them a bit: Did you notice the electric, appliances, and exterior doors are new? Did you notice the heritage quality tile we used in the bathroom? I pray the Home Inspector is gracious and kind. Please look over the flaws, it’s working just fine! It’s a great place. Your clients will love it here!

But when I buy a home I want to meet the Inspector in driveway with white gloves, a magnifying glass, and a lie detector test. I want to know why the grout is a different color right there, what that smell is, and if that’s a water stain in the basement. I want the Home Inspector to be ruthless. I want to know everything that is wrong and could go wrong. I don’t care if this home worked for them. I’m investing a lot here. I want it perfect.

When I confess my sins, it sometimes feels like I’m letting the Home Inspector in. I take a deep breath and open the front door with a forced smile. I’m already panicking about the hole in the fence, the leaky washer, and those critter noises I heard once in the wall….continue reading at Perissos

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©Aimee Fritz & Family Compassion Focus, 2016.

photo by Roman Mager via

photo by Roman Mager via



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