Over the last year I have been following home market listings via email from three different real estate agents:  one in Connecticut, and now two in Los Angeles.  Now that my husband and I are more serious about selling our home and moving further west within The Valley,  I’ve been eyeing the local listings much more critically, dismissing those that seem out of our price range, corner lots, those north of “the boulevard,” and hilly locations with no yard.  Incidentally, even if a house on a hill had a nice yard, it’s got a strike against it because I have two little boys.  On a hilly street I instantly flash forward to broken bones and head injuries due to accidents resulting from too much speed on a wheeled apparatus – skateboard, rollerblades, scooter, bicycle, you name it.

Every so often a listing pops up in my email box that seems to have the perfect pedigree:  location, size, price range, etc.  And if it’s on an easily reached street that’s on my way to work…well, I just can’t resist.  In fact, last weekend I was going stir crazy with my little boys so I strapped them into their car seats and took them for a drive.  “Look at the houses, boys, what do you think?”  I asked.

Silence, then cries of “Hey, he hit me!”  After all, they’re only 4 and 2.  They have no idea what I’m talking about.

Inevitably, the drive-by leaves me unsatisfied, like vanilla ice cream.  (I contend that vanilla ice cream is a tease, a waste of calories, not worth my time.)  In some cases, it helps to rule out a house.  One home that was well located and perfect on paper had a dry, grass-covered hillside as its backyard – total southern California wildfire territory.  In most cases, though, you only get to see the front of the house, when you really need to see the rest.

I am not learning from this experience.  I keep doing it.  It’s a compulsion, like my nightly dip into the kids’ leftover Halloween candy for just one more piece.