Flat-finding. House-hunting. Miracle-moving.

We arrived in Glasgow armed with a few pieces of information: we knew roughly where we wanted to live; how much money we would have per month; and that if we didn't find somewhere to live by July 23rd, we would literally be booted out of the city and have to go live in Edinburgh because of the Commonwealth Games. No pressure there, especially given the possibly fragile psyches of our yanked-around kiddos.

We spent a few nights compiling a list of ten or so properties that we found online that seemed doable location and price wise. Each listing required a call to a different letting company, which meant that on my first round of calls, I heard, "Oh, no, that property was taken ages ago," from ten different people. A little disheartening, to say the least. I was given a few more online sites to comb through though, and suddenly each evening was devoted to poring over hundreds of listings, and each morning I spent 30 or so minutes calling the various companies. Strike after strike. For three mornings, every listing was a no. We were starting to panic, and decided that if we ever got lucky enough to make it to a showing, we would just take the property in case we didn't get another chance.

Finally we got lucky. We had a showing booked. I threw the kids in a taxi, as I was still trying to figure out how to get around effectively and Thomas sprinted over from work. Much to our surprise, seven other groups were also at the showing. We were definitely the only ones with kids, and as we climbed the trash-strewn cement staircase two flights up, I started to have my doubts. Which were confirmed once we stepped foot in the flat. We were prepared for small; we were prepared for loads of Ikea furniture, but we were not prepared for a dump with dirty mattress, ripped-up carpets, couches with holes, etc.

So we panicked again, especially after the next two properties were even worse. Then a gleaming light arose as we were the first people to see a gorgeous flat in a killer downtown location. It was clean! There was a lift! A dishwasher! A full size fridge! We pounced and tried to put an offer in the next morning, with the puzzling result of the agency telling us that they couldn't reach the landlord, but that they would get back to us as soon as they did. Bummed but hopeful to hear something soon, we kept on trekking.

And with the July 23rd date looming ever closer, I started checking the real estate sites multiple times per day, and finally a good looking property right smack in the middle of the area we'd originally aimed at popped up. Apparently I was the first caller and even though the showing wasn't for another week, we were pretty stoked about this one.

When we showed up at the flat, the usual huddled groups of other potentials were there. And when the agent opened the door and I saw the little elevator at the back of the vestibule, I began to feel like a cheetah stalking a gazelle. We raced around the flat, inventorying things: one big bedroom, two single bedrooms (read: enough space for one twin bed and a dresser). A washer. A dryer (unheard of!). A dishwasher. Stairs to separate sleeping space from living space. Clean. Above a grocery store. Decent furniture. We were hooked. So, like the predatory, house-hunting animals we were, we split into two groups. We'd already mapped out the location of the letting agency, on a hunch that this was "the one" (thanks Holy Spirit!), so Thomas tucked Elliott into his chest and literally ran down the road so that we could beat out any of the other potentials from the showing. I threw Lillian into the stroller and rushed after them, and we all piled into the office like the circus we are. Another group from the showing also came in, and by the grace of God, the letting agency decided that they'd take our deposit instead of theirs. They told us it was because we called first, and they told the other group that "they couldn't get a hold of the landlord at that time." (At least we were on the other side of that excuse this time!)

We moved in on July 15, eight days before our big deadline, and other than a few quirks about living in an older building (example: if you want to throw away a trash bag bigger than a bathroom trashcan, you have to lug it down two flights of stairs, through a grocery store, into an alley, and into a locked room that you had to copy your neighbor's key to get into...), we absolutely love it. The kids have their own tiny rooms--originally we thought they'd have to share--and there is tons of closet space. The kitchen has great appliances. The furniture is kid-friendly yet nice.

AND THE LOCATION COULDN'T BE BETTER. Every day I am beyond grateful to be across the street from the library; half a block down from the Botanic Gardens, which is my favorite place in Glasgow; across the street from a soup and sandwich shop where they let Lillian climb on the counter and "help;" above a grocery store; close to good bus routes; a few blocks from the subway; walking distance to some of the best museums; etc.
We are so thankful that God made a way for us when it felt like there was no way. He met all of our needs (and beyond) with this flat, and we are excited about making this our home for the next year or so.
So, come visit! You can stay on the deluxe aero-bed we just purchased for visitors. Or you can cram into Lillian's twin with her on her carefully-selected pink sheets.

Here are some fairly random pictures from inside our home. I think only one of these is a repeat from social media:

The family room has lots of space for our almost-walking little guy. Ikea rug FTW.

As close to an "open-concept" plan as you can get in an older building

Still figuring out how to wash my face without scalding myself

Little man finally has a crib after six weeks of sleeping in a travel crib. More Ikea love. 

Panorama out of the family room windows. Right now (about 10 pm) I can hear people eating at cafes, someone busking below us, and generally just a hum of evening activity.

Our front door is TARDIS blue. Amazing.