In Congo we talked about buying a new house once we got settled in Canada. The house we bought before we were married was waiting for us in Calgary, and was a great little starter home, but the configuration of the bedrooms wasn’t right for a family with young kids, which wasn’t even on our radar when we purchased the home all those years ago.

The plan was to settle in, get into the Canadian groove, and when everyone was comfortable in school and work, we would slowly start looking for a new home, likely in the spring.

So you can imagine my surprise on my second day back in our house, fresh out of Congo, when I was riding my bike with the kids and I saw a for sale sign go up in our neighbourhood.

That looks like a great house. I thought to myself.

Just out of curiosity, I looked it up online after our bike ride and found that the great house, also had a pretty great price.

This is not the time to buy Lisa; you’re still surrounded by boxes, the rational voice in my head was telling me. But that for-sale sign was taunting me each time I drove by it.

One day during Calgary Stampede, my kids slept over at my parents so I could have a late night out with girlfriends. The next morning, still feeling the side effects of the Stampede party, I was on my way to pick the kids up, when I decided to do a slow, creepy drive past the house that was for sale, thinking maybe I could get a glance inside a window or something.

It was a hot day and my car windows were down. The neighbour was outside. It was fate.

“You’re house looks great!” I called out in true, friendly-Canadian style as I drove without my foot even on the gas pedal.

“Thanks!” He shouted back to me, “Want to have a look inside?”

I couldn’t. It was NOT the time to buy. I had a house full of boxes a few blocks away. I was still in the process of moving in, I couldn’t possibly think about moving again.

But my foot was now on the brake and I was at a stand still in the middle of the street.

“Ya, why not!” I called back, and slid the car into park in front of the house.

I introduced myself to my neighbour and explained that I actually had no business looking to buy a new house when I was moving into my own “new” house, having just returned from Africa. We then got to chatting and the reason he was selling was because he was actually moving overseas. The expat-gods were aligned on this one.

As I walked into his home it became instantly apparent that I was a million miles away from Congo, which was more than I could say for my husband, who was still there. The sparkling counter tops and North American style island in the kitchen were the hook, line, and sinker before I even made it past the front room.I pulled out why phone and started Whatsapp’ing pictures to my husband in West Africa.

As I walked through the house, pictures kept flying through the Interweb to Congo. And he kept replying with comments like ‘Why are you in the neighbours house?’ and ‘I thought we weren’t going to look at houses until after Christmas?’

As I was leaving the owner added, “Most of the things inside of the house are also for sale since I’m moving abroad.”

“Do you know how many times I have uttered those words in the last decade!”We laughed, exchanged numbers, and I told him that I had some unpacking to do. I said “Mr. Lisa” wouldn’t even be in Canada for another few weeks, so I’d be a few streets over, unpacking boxes until then.

Three weeks later, our house was actually looking liveable and the whole Webb family was about to be on Canadian soil. Coincidentally, as I was going to pick up the last member of our party of four at the airport, I got a text from the neighbour saying that the house was still for sale and if I wanted my husband to see it, he’d be happy to show it.

My husband wasn’t even through customs yet, so I figured I’d at least give him until the ride home from the airport until I sprung this on him.I should add here that this was “the summer of Kev”, as he turned 40 in August. On his way home from Congo, while I was in Canada setting up life in our newest location with two kids, he stopped in Amsterdam for 10 days to have a 40th boys-trip with his childhood bestie. I could pretty much ask for anything in that moment and he’d have a hard time saying no.

All I wanted was for him to look at the house. It would give him an idea of what I’d like when it came time to move.

To appease his wife, about 32 hours after arriving in Canada, with eyes puffy from jet lag, we rock up at the front door of our neighbours’ house.

Half way through the tour my husband shoots me a look.

After being with someone for so long, through so many moves, and choosing so many houses together; I knew the look.

The look stated: Holy shit I think we should actually buy this house.

His parting words to the owner confirmed my translation. “I’m going to be honest with you; I came to look at this house to make my wife happy, but half way through I realized that we might be buying your house.”

When Kevin saw that there was a heated, FOUR car garage being built in the backyard, he basically negotiated on the spot that a wall be built down the middle and half that garage would be converted to a gym. Sold. We were moving.

That’s how it unfolded. The rest, as they say, is history.

All the moving madness has taken over most of our summer. Now, I’m procrastinating packing, and my to manage my stress through writing, as always. For the past couple months while we’ve been receiving a sea container and unpacking boxes; we’ve also been going through the financials of buying a home in a country where neither of us have worked in 9 years and we won’t have a pay-stub until the end of September.

The whole time we’ve been settling in, we’ve known there was a pretty darn good chance we’d be re-packing these same boxes in record time. This time we just wouldn’t be sending them a record distance (for once).

New keys are arriving today and bright and early tomorrow morning there will be a moving truck rolling up curbside Chez Webb, once again. The look on our neighbours face was priceless when we told her we were moving again, In some ways we’re also shocked that this happened so soon, and in others, it’s not at all surprising.

New country, new house, new job, new school, new house again.

September has been pretty full-on!