2000. The twins were about 15 months old and we were living in a smallish two bedroom apartment in East Palo Alto. They were sleeping through the night, both had been walking for months, and Archie had left WebTV and joined another start up. We were looking for a house. (A fortuitous stock sale was the down payment.)
The house search was a nightmare. In our (admittedly insane for the rest of the world) price range, I saw houses that needed to be scrapped. Design and decorating nightmares. (Let us never speak of the house that will forever be known as the NASCAR house -- it started with the mailbox painted in black and white checks and extended to the bathrooms that were tiled in psychedelic colors that apparently were racing colors for specific drivers. The horror!) When we extended our search to the East Bay, we started to see much better options and found this house by the end of the year. And there was much rejoicing until we realized just how much money we were paying for a 50s ranch house. Ugh.
We also discovered that our real estate agent was an alcoholic and there were many strange phone conversations. If we ever buy another house, I'm insisting on a drug and alcohol screen. Because I don't ever want to have anything approaching those conversations again.
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