My house is wonderful.

My house is too small. It is square and brick, and there are bits that need patching. It has no fireplace. The ceilings are low. The kitchen is dreadful. The bathroom is tiny. The wallpaper is beige. And obviously, the buying and selling of houses is not a topic to bring up in public these days.

But the bank does not care. The bank does not give two beans for the beigeness of the wallpaper or the inconvenience of the kitchen design. In their imagination, my house is worth money; thus, they are willing to lend me some.

It was years ago that I first thought about adoption. I always liked the idea. But after a year of foster training, I knew I didn’t have it in me to go through the heartbreak of loving a child and then losing them, over and over, while waiting to adopt. It’s hard enough to watch lil’ e come and go, and know that while I’ll always be hers, she’ll never be mine. And private adoptions? Expensive! Seriously, how do people ever manage it?

Well, they manage it with credit cards, that’s how.

I paid off my credit card a long time ago. Those little buggers are dangerous and I have never wanted one since. So sometimes I forget that it’s possible to spend money that you don’t actually have. No credit cards for me, still, but…

Yes, the bank will loan me money for adoption fees. Because I have a house.

My house is wonderful. My house is a miracle. My house may have saved my life.

And, evidently, once the adoption is finalized, a lot of the cost comes back as a tax credit, so I might even be able to pay the loan back! (Gee!)

I feel like I’ve been underwater, and just swum up to the surface, where there’s light, and air.