One of the biggest questions I get from homeowners isn't what their home is worth or when they should list it. It's this:

"Should we sell our current home before we buy our next one?"

It's a fair question, and one that doesn't have a one-size-fits-all answer. Every family's finances, comfort level, and goals are different. That said, after more than two decades helping people buy and sell homes throughout Edmonton, Spruce Grove and the surrounding communities, I've seen enough transactions to know that some approaches consistently create less stress and produce better financial outcomes than others.

For most people, I believe the safest approach is to sell first, then buy.

That might not sound very exciting. In fact, many people initially dislike the idea because they're worried they won't find their next home in time. But once your current home is sold, everything becomes much clearer. You know exactly how much money you'll have available, your mortgage broker can give you an accurate budget, and when you make an offer on your next home, you aren't asking the seller to take on additional risk. That makes your offer more attractive and often gives you more negotiating power.

Perhaps most importantly, you've removed one of the biggest sources of stress from the process. You're no longer wondering whether your home will sell before a deadline arrives. Instead, you're simply looking for the right home.

Of course, selling first isn't perfect. Occasionally the timing doesn't line up exactly, and you may need temporary accommodations or storage between homes. While moving twice certainly isn't ideal, I've found that most people would rather deal with a temporary inconvenience than make a rushed financial decision involving hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Some homeowners choose the opposite approach and buy first. This can work very well, but only if your finances support it. Depending on your situation, your lender may be able to arrange bridge financing or another financing solution that allows you to own both homes for a period of time. This approach lets you shop patiently instead of feeling pressured to find something before your current home sells. The downside, of course, is that you may temporarily be responsible for two mortgages, two property tax bills, two insurance policies and all the other expenses that come with owning two properties. That's a conversation you should have with your mortgage broker before you ever start looking at homes.

Then there's the strategy many people hope will solve everything: writing an offer that is subject to the sale of their current home.

On the surface, it sounds ideal. You secure the home you want, but you're only obligated to buy it if your current home sells first. Unfortunately, in practice, this is often the most stressful option of all.

The first challenge is convincing the seller to accept your offer. Remember that from their perspective, your purchase now depends on another house selling, one they have no control over. They're effectively waiting for two transactions instead of one. Naturally, many sellers are reluctant to accept that uncertainty.

In a strong seller's market, subject-to-sale offers are often at a significant disadvantage. If sellers have multiple buyers to choose from, they're unlikely to choose the offer with the greatest uncertainty unless it's substantially stronger in other ways, such as offering a higher purchase price or more favourable terms. Even if they do accept it, they'll often include what's commonly known as a 24- or 48-hour escape clause, allowing them to continue marketing the property.

That clause can create enormous pressure. If another acceptable offer comes along, you'll receive notice that you have a limited amount of time, often just 24 or 48 hours, to remove your sale condition or lose the home. At that point, you're suddenly racing against the clock.

Ironically, a buyer's market doesn't necessarily make subject-to-sale offers any more appealing.

When homes are taking longer to sell, sellers are already worried about finding a buyer for their own property. Asking them to also take on the risk that your home may face the same challenges doesn't usually make the situation more attractive. Instead of solving one uncertainty, you've simply doubled it. While some sellers will still consider these offers, they often do so only because they have few alternatives, not because they're comfortable with the arrangement.

The biggest problem isn't actually the contract itself. It's what happens emotionally after it's accepted.

Once you've mentally moved into your new home, every showing of your current home feels critical. Every day without an offer becomes stressful. Every piece of buyer feedback feels more significant than it probably is. Before long, many homeowners start asking whether they should lower the price, accept weaker terms, agree to costly repairs, or make other concessions simply to get their home sold before their purchase disappears.

I've seen homeowners negotiate an excellent price on the home they were buying, only to give away far more money on the home they were selling because they were under intense time pressure. In the end, the numbers often work against them.

That's one of the reasons I generally view subject-to-sale offers as a strategy to use only when there's a compelling reason, not as the default plan. There are situations where they're appropriate, and I've successfully negotiated many of them over the years. But they should be entered into with a clear understanding of the risks, not because they seem like the easiest solution.

The reality is that every move involves some compromise. Selling first may mean temporary housing. Buying first requires stronger finances. Subject-to-sale offers can work, but they often transfer the stress from one part of the transaction to another rather than eliminating it.

The good news is that none of these decisions need to be made alone.

One of the most valuable things a REALTOR® can do isn't simply open doors or negotiate contracts. It's help you develop a strategy before any paperwork is signed. That means looking at your home's likely saleability, your financial position, current market conditions, and your personal comfort with risk. Often, a thirty-minute conversation before you start looking at homes can save weeks of stress and potentially thousands of dollars later.

If you're thinking about moving in the next few months, or even next year, I'd be happy to sit down with you and discuss the different approaches. Every situation is unique, and there's no obligation. Sometimes the most valuable advice comes long before your home ever hits the market.

Every home has a room that gets all the attention.

The kitchen gets the compliments. The living room gets the cozy photos. The ensuite gets described with words like “spa-inspired,” even if everyone knows the closest it has ever come to a spa is a eucalyptus candle from Winners.

But there is one space in the home that works harder than all of them. It does not ask for applause. It does not appear in glossy magazines very often. It rarely has perfect lighting. It simply stands there, day after day, absorbing whatever life throws at it.

Boots. Backpacks. Hockey bags. Dog leashes. Grocery overflow. Wet mittens. Mystery gravel. One glove from 2022. A reusable shopping bag full of other reusable shopping bags.

I am speaking, of course, about the mudroom.

The humble mudroom may not be the most glamorous space in the house, but in Alberta, it might be one of the most important. Because around here, “coming inside” is not always a gentle transition.

Sometimes it is a controlled weather event.

The Most Honest Room in the House

A living room can lie. It can be fluffed, vacuumed, staged, and made to look like no one in the home has ever eaten crackers on the couch or lost a remote control for three weeks.

A kitchen can lie too. Clear the counters, tuck away the toaster, light a candle, and suddenly it looks like every meal in the house begins with fresh herbs and ends with someone calmly wiping marble.

But a mudroom tells the truth.

It knows if the kids had gym class. It knows if someone went golfing. It knows if the dog found a puddle and considered it a personal invitation. It knows if hockey season has started because the air has changed.

The mudroom is where real life drops its bag, kicks off its boots, and says, “I’ll deal with this later.” It is less of a room and more of a confession booth with hooks.

Alberta Weather Requires a Landing Zone

In some places, an entryway just needs to hold a pair of shoes and maybe a tasteful umbrella stand.

That must be nice.

Here, we need a space prepared for all four seasons, sometimes in the same week. September brings backpacks, runners, light jackets, and the first hints of denial that summer is ending. October adds leaves, rain, mud, and the annual debate over whether it is too early to turn on the furnace. November introduces winter boots, salt, snow pants, and the quiet panic of trying to find matching mittens before school.

Then spring arrives and somehow makes everything worse. Snow is at least honest. Mud is chaos with moisture.

This is why the mudroom matters. It is the border crossing between “outside” and “please don’t track that through the house.” It is the place where boots go to thaw, coats go to dry, sports equipment goes to become everyone’s problem, and one person’s “I’ll just leave this here for now” becomes a six-month installation.

The Mudroom Understands Families

The mudroom knows that families do not enter a house like people in a furniture commercial. They arrive in waves.

Someone is carrying groceries. Someone is crying because their sock feels weird. Someone forgot their water bottle. Someone is yelling, “Where are my keys?” while holding them. The dog is excited for reasons that are unclear but intense.

And through it all, the mudroom absorbs the impact. It catches the backpack that missed the hook. It receives the wet boots that were kicked off with impressive accuracy but no concern for alignment. It holds the mail, the flyers, the permission forms, the toque pile, the sunscreen from July, and a single shin pad that no one will claim.

A good mudroom does not demand perfection. It knows better. A good mudroom says, “Put it somewhere in this general zone and we’ll call that progress.”

That is why hooks are superior to hangers in a family home. Hangers are optimistic. Hooks are realistic. A hanger says, “Please take the time to properly place your coat.” A hook says, “I know who I’m dealing with.”

The Boot Tray: A Small Act of Mercy

There are many fancy home features in the world. Wine fridges. Heated floors. Walk-in pantries. Smart thermostats. Pot fillers, for those who want to save three steps while filling pasta water but will still walk around the kitchen looking for their phone.

All lovely.

But let us not overlook the quiet brilliance of the boot tray.

The boot tray is not glamorous. It will never be described as a “showstopper.” No one walks into a house and says, “Wow, is that the original boot tray?” But it performs a sacred duty.

It contains the melt. It accepts the salt. It receives the gravel. It gathers the slush. It says, “Not today, hardwood.”

A good boot tray is the difference between “normal winter living” and “why is there a small lake under the bench?” In Alberta, this is not a minor detail. This is infrastructure.

Every Household Has a Mudroom Personality

You can learn a lot about a household from its mudroom.

The hockey family has sticks, tape, helmets, water bottles, and at least one bag that should legally be stored outdoors. The dog family has leashes, towels, treats, paw wipes, and a look of permanent resignation.

The acreage family has rubber boots, work gloves, feed store receipts, and outerwear for tasks that city people would call “a full weekend project.” The young family has tiny shoes, tiny coats, tiny mittens, tiny backpacks, and somehow none of it takes up a tiny amount of space.

The Costco family has bulk paper towels, a case of sparkling water, and a 48-pack of something no one remembers buying but everyone agrees was probably a good deal. The gardener has muddy shoes, seed packets, gloves, and an admirable belief that this year the tomatoes will behave.

The mudroom does not judge. It simply records the evidence.

The Best Mudrooms Are Not Perfect

A perfect mudroom is suspicious.

If every basket is labelled, every coat is evenly spaced, every boot is paired, and every surface is clear, that may be a mudroom in theory, but I have questions.

Where are the rogue mittens? Where is the reusable bag full of returns? Where is the screwdriver someone brought in from the garage and then abandoned? Where is the pile of things that need to go to the vehicle but have somehow lived by the door for nine days?

A real mudroom has some friction. Not filth. Not chaos. Just signs of life.

The best ones are designed for recovery, not perfection. They make it easy to reset. A bench helps. Hooks help. Closed storage helps. A place for keys helps. A bin for hats and mitts helps. A surface that can survive a wet backpack definitely helps.

The goal is not to create a room that looks untouched. The goal is to create a room that can be touched by real life and survive.

Why This Room Deserves More Respect

When people think about what makes a home comfortable, they often picture the beautiful spaces first: the bright kitchen, the cozy family room, the peaceful bedroom, the finished basement.

And yes, those matter.

But daily life is often shaped by the practical spaces. The entryway that makes mornings easier. The laundry area that can handle real volume. The garage access that makes unloading groceries less annoying. The storage that prevents every season from taking over the main floor at once.

These are not always the spaces that sell the dream. But they often support the life.

A good mudroom will not make your coffee, fold your laundry, or explain why there are seven water bottles in the vehicle. But it will take the hit when everyone comes home at once.

It will hold the coats, the boots, the bags, the mess, the weather, the routines, the sports, the pets, the seasons, and the tiny daily disasters that make a house feel lived in.

That deserves some credit.

So here’s to the mudroom: the hardest-working room in the house, the keeper of boots, the defender of floors, the witness to school mornings, the seasonal storage diplomat, and the place where Alberta weather meets its match.

It may never be the most beautiful room in the home.

But on a wet October afternoon, when the leaves are stuck to your shoes, the dog is damp, the groceries are sliding out of the bag, and someone has just asked where their other mitten is?

There is no room you’ll appreciate more.