I say they're from AZ - that's when they became our Wonderful Neighbors. They're in CA now, but we try to drive really close in behind them so nobody sees the plates. *wink* And we have had a spectacular two days so far. We haven't shown them nearly as much of our new beautiful native land as we would like, but it's been good. A few of the highlights:
Their two little boys are absolutely darling, wonderful, precious, and did I mention darling? The five boys blend together so well and have such fun. The older three ramble about exploring, pretending, playing, singing, and plotting. The Diaper Brigade (Smidge and their Little D) sort of flit from place to place like smiling bumble bees - bumping into things, laughing hysterically about it, and then floating off in another direction. If bumble bees weighed 30 pounds, I'm pretty sure you could hear them laugh, and it would sound like these boys' laughter.
Ben & Claudia love the area and have found a place they could easily call home. Now we just need to help Ben find a job here (which, honestly, is a matter of time, just time) and get them moved. It's exciting to see their dreams for their family reflected in everything they see here.
We took them to church with us on Wednesday for supper and Bible study. We sat at a table by ourselves to eat, not because the folks at church are unfriendly, but because there are nine of us and the round tables in our fellowship hall only seat eight, comfortably. Many folks stopped over to welcome them and make them feel comfortable. Zorak and I appreciated that. It can be difficult to manage the social graces of introductions when you have three hungry children and a gazillion distractions.
During Bible study, Pastor H introduced them to the class and let the word out that they are looking at coming to live here. I was so absolutely humbled and thankful for our church in the moments that followed. Two gentlemen asked Ben for his resume and a third heard that Ben's degree is in Computer Engineering (or something like that, I was herding Smidge by that point) and pointed out that he is hiring. Nobody made grandiose promises or stepped outside good business sense, but they really walked the walk, so to speak, and let it be known that if they could help, they would. Resumes for everyone, and prayers all 'round. What a great church home we have!
Today we had the whole clan over for breakfast. That would be six adults (Ben's parents accompanied them on the voyage) and five children to feed. I felt like I cooked for hours! And it was only eggs, sausage, hashed browns and fresh fruit! It wasn't a fancy meal, but there was a lot of it. If we were to have more than six children, oatmeal would be the most elaborate food I prepared! Since we're still making do with our little four-chair kitchen table set, everyone ate in shifts. It worked out well. Then Claudia & Ben headed off to explore with a realtor while Zorak and I enjoyed sweating on the porch with Ben's Mom & Dad, catching up, sharing jokes, and encouraging one another.
Tomorrow is going to be neat. It's Zorak's day to do one of those things I think he's always thought would be cool to do for guests - you know, if we weren't poor and landlocked... and poor. Well, now we're not, so we're doing it. He's rented a pontoon boat for the whole herd and we're going cruising on the lake and up one of the rivers tomorrow! He's so excited, he's downright giddy. It has the feel of a rite of passage. We may ground ourselves on a sandbar or two, but that's okay. It's not like either of us has a yachting trophy stashed amidst the archery trophies. And fortunately, if we do manage to get ourselves into a pickle (or three), we know we're among friends who will cover for us and mock us mercilessly for decades about "that time you tried to kill us!" I've emptied the camera card and will post pictures!
We did take them out to see the house we're negotiating on. I think it scared Ben (to be honest, it can go either way - charming country home with potential, or creepy out-of-the-way place to bury bodies at night). The kids had a blast, though, and it was nice to walk Claudia through the house, explaining what we planned to do with it - made it a little more clear. The place needs a bit more upfront effort on the structural end than we'd wanted to get into (at least right away), but nothing major. It was good to see it again, from a fresh perspective.
And I'll tell ya, I am one tired Mama! The boys have run nonstop, sleeping only when we can get them to be still for two or three seconds - and yet, they're still up at six thirty each morning! Wow. To be one or five or six and actually realize the sheer power of inertia you've got on your side! Wouldn't that be an amazing thing to experience for a day? (Wouldn't want to trade, though. I don't think my old frame could keep up with their high-speed motors and trannies for longer than, say, lunch time...)
Kiss those babies - even the ones that aren't yours!
~Dy
If you don't mind the construction dust, come on in. The coffee's hot, the food's good, and the door is open...
Thursday, August 11
See? It works. (Part II...)
Alright, already! In all fairness, we didn't hear anything back until after five today. Well, Wednesday, but Ben & Claudia just left, so I'm still running on Wed. hours.
So here's Part II:
Once we withdrew our offer on the first property, Zorak and I sifted through all the other places we've looked at over the past three and a half months. We found one that had inspired our imaginations and which we truly liked. We called Nice Mortgage Man to find out if he could do that property, what the payments would look like, and what he'd need to do it as a ten-day closing. (Can you tell we're tired of living in an apartment?) He said he will make it happen, so we called the realtor who'd shown us the property and asked to make an offer. She agreed to meet us after lunch to do all the paperwork. Yippee!
We sat down at the table and the first thing she said was, "I have to let you know there is someone at the office putting in an offer on this property as we speak." Hear that? That is the sound of my intestines knotting around my heart and squeezing the valves out of it. For the record, that sound echoes in a library. You know, in case you ever find yourself wondering, "Is that just gas or am I dying?"
The realtor had let all appropriate agencies know that she, too, was getting an offer and so it was that both offers were to go in on a "multiple offer form". Yeah, that sounds like fun. We scrapped the original plan and put in a much better offer than we'd intended. Still within our comfort range, just not as, mmmmm, spectacular a deal, let's say. For us. For the seller, it was great. There's a dispute over the easement of the property. They were going to take care of it; we said, "don't bother, we'll do that." They were going to fix the broken air conditioner; we said, "that's okay, we can take care of that." We even had a ten-day closing date with an approval letter from Nice Mortgage Man. How sweet can that be, right?
Evidently, sweeter than Equal, but not quite up to Pure Cane Sugar standards. We heard nothing at all yesterday due to a bizarre twist of events in which our mortgage file took a joy ride to Tennessee and arrived late at the bank's office. (The bank is the seller in this particular transaction.) They had both offers all day, and could peruse them. From what I understand, though, they could not actually make a decision until all pertinent documents (including the prodigal approval letter) were safely in hand. So we heard diddly yesterday aside from the painful grinding and squealing of brakes as the process came to a stunning halt. We would definitely hear something by Wednesday.
Wednesday was really long. When your adrenaline is pumping hard enough to infuse the hairs of your eyebrows, you know you're wired. And time. stands. still. So you eat. And you wait. Then you clean. And you wait. You feed the small ones. And you eat some more, then wait a bit. It feels like more waiting than it really is, but eventually you call the realtor with the same song and dance she probably hears at this point in every single transaction she's ever facilitated:
And your realtor, if she is kind and for whatever reason, likes you, will be genial and sweet, and not mock you for it. She still won't have any news for you. But at least she'll be gentle in letting you down and recommending that perhaps you put on gloves and find something productive to do. And yes, she really will call you as soon as she hears something. Yes, anything. Yes, she promises.
So you take your company swimming, and you feed the small ones again. You let them watch a movie while you fill your guests in on all there is to love about the area. And you discover that you can, in fact, completely drain the battery on your cell phone by constantly pressing the buttons to see if you somehow missed a call - even though you have the thing on HIGH ring and vibrate, and have worn it all day tucked into your undergarments. When your husband calls, you try to sound calm and collected as you explain that no, you haven't heard anything yet, and yes, you really will call him as soon as you hear something. Yes, anything. Yes, you promise.
(You also note that he called you more today than you called the realtor, which has a redeeming sensation to it, although you wouldn't ever hold that against your husband because you wanted to call the realtor every half hour until she had news or filed a restraining order against you.)
Finally, as the business day has ended and you are wondering how much chocolate one fetus can withstand, the phone rings. It is your realtor. With news. Bizarre news.
The bank has a counter offer. Just for you (don't you feel special?!), which means that the negotiations have begun in earnest. But their counter is very strange. They want:
Full list and they aren't going to fix anything - but, wasn't the whole point of volunteering to fix those two biggies ourselves so we don't have to pay you to do it, and you'd priced it out including your execution of those two features... but, *sigh* ok, that's fine. The difference isn't much at all, and we're okay with it, so we'll take that.
They'll pay $xxxx in closing costs - um, as opposed to us paying $yyyy in closing costs? And this is going to cost you more. Yeah. That's weird, but we'll take it. Gift. Horse. Mouth. Got it.
They want double the earnest money. Huh? Um, okay... I don't know why. You've got one check and now you want another one just like it. If you could see my nails right now, you'd know we're serious.
And then the really weird one. They countered our ten-day closing with not a 30-day closing, but a 45-day closing!! WHAT?! No! Why? Now, this is a bit of a deal breaker. There is no way we can get the house clean enough to move into by the end of September if we can't take possession for another 45 days... and our locked rate on the mortgage expires way before then. No. Why?
The house is vacant - nobody has to move out.
The property is abandoned - there is nothing to remove.
The house is closed up and busily molding at this point - and that's okay.
You have nothing to fix, repair, clean, mow, or even titter over. This is a completely "as-is" sale - so it's not like you need time to get things done there.
We want to give you your money SOONER rather than later...
That last one, we don't get. At all. If, however, we can come to a compromise on that point, then, my friends, we will have a home. Then, and only then, will I get all excited and girl-like over it and tell y'all about it. Until then, I'm doing all I can not to let my nerves make contact with my hormones. Baking soda and vinegar have nuthin' on this combination, trust me.
The realtor has sent the bank an email inquiring to the import the bank lays on this 45-day closing date and it's negotiability. I have eaten three rolls of Tums and washed it all down with a dose of Rescue Remedy. (Followed by more Tums - I always forget how nasty that stress-relief tincture tastes.) And we still don't really know much more.
Zorak says it's all going to be okay, they just want to make sure they leave as nasty a taste as possible in my mouth first. If that's the case, I'll buy a case of Mentos and I can outlast them. Oh yes, this is where my gypsy blood comes into play. It's stubborn, and since I've been ousted from the camp, I need a camp of my own. So bring it on, folks! You cannot out-weird me. Oh no.
Part III... I have no idea when part three will come. Hopefully soon, though, because I only have three fingernails left.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
So here's Part II:
Once we withdrew our offer on the first property, Zorak and I sifted through all the other places we've looked at over the past three and a half months. We found one that had inspired our imaginations and which we truly liked. We called Nice Mortgage Man to find out if he could do that property, what the payments would look like, and what he'd need to do it as a ten-day closing. (Can you tell we're tired of living in an apartment?) He said he will make it happen, so we called the realtor who'd shown us the property and asked to make an offer. She agreed to meet us after lunch to do all the paperwork. Yippee!
We sat down at the table and the first thing she said was, "I have to let you know there is someone at the office putting in an offer on this property as we speak." Hear that? That is the sound of my intestines knotting around my heart and squeezing the valves out of it. For the record, that sound echoes in a library. You know, in case you ever find yourself wondering, "Is that just gas or am I dying?"
The realtor had let all appropriate agencies know that she, too, was getting an offer and so it was that both offers were to go in on a "multiple offer form". Yeah, that sounds like fun. We scrapped the original plan and put in a much better offer than we'd intended. Still within our comfort range, just not as, mmmmm, spectacular a deal, let's say. For us. For the seller, it was great. There's a dispute over the easement of the property. They were going to take care of it; we said, "don't bother, we'll do that." They were going to fix the broken air conditioner; we said, "that's okay, we can take care of that." We even had a ten-day closing date with an approval letter from Nice Mortgage Man. How sweet can that be, right?
Evidently, sweeter than Equal, but not quite up to Pure Cane Sugar standards. We heard nothing at all yesterday due to a bizarre twist of events in which our mortgage file took a joy ride to Tennessee and arrived late at the bank's office. (The bank is the seller in this particular transaction.) They had both offers all day, and could peruse them. From what I understand, though, they could not actually make a decision until all pertinent documents (including the prodigal approval letter) were safely in hand. So we heard diddly yesterday aside from the painful grinding and squealing of brakes as the process came to a stunning halt. We would definitely hear something by Wednesday.
Wednesday was really long. When your adrenaline is pumping hard enough to infuse the hairs of your eyebrows, you know you're wired. And time. stands. still. So you eat. And you wait. Then you clean. And you wait. You feed the small ones. And you eat some more, then wait a bit. It feels like more waiting than it really is, but eventually you call the realtor with the same song and dance she probably hears at this point in every single transaction she's ever facilitated:
Hi... This is your neurotic client. I know you're going to call when you hear something, but I, uh, well, um... Actually, I thought I'd call to make sure there was nothing else they needed from us. You know, blood samples, access to our life's savings, more lead-based paint forms in triplicate? And, well, after not much thought at all, that sounded like a good enough excuse to call you instead of waiting by this phone, peeling my nails off my fingers one layer at a time.
And your realtor, if she is kind and for whatever reason, likes you, will be genial and sweet, and not mock you for it. She still won't have any news for you. But at least she'll be gentle in letting you down and recommending that perhaps you put on gloves and find something productive to do. And yes, she really will call you as soon as she hears something. Yes, anything. Yes, she promises.
So you take your company swimming, and you feed the small ones again. You let them watch a movie while you fill your guests in on all there is to love about the area. And you discover that you can, in fact, completely drain the battery on your cell phone by constantly pressing the buttons to see if you somehow missed a call - even though you have the thing on HIGH ring and vibrate, and have worn it all day tucked into your undergarments. When your husband calls, you try to sound calm and collected as you explain that no, you haven't heard anything yet, and yes, you really will call him as soon as you hear something. Yes, anything. Yes, you promise.
(You also note that he called you more today than you called the realtor, which has a redeeming sensation to it, although you wouldn't ever hold that against your husband because you wanted to call the realtor every half hour until she had news or filed a restraining order against you.)
Finally, as the business day has ended and you are wondering how much chocolate one fetus can withstand, the phone rings. It is your realtor. With news. Bizarre news.
The bank has a counter offer. Just for you (don't you feel special?!), which means that the negotiations have begun in earnest. But their counter is very strange. They want:
Full list and they aren't going to fix anything - but, wasn't the whole point of volunteering to fix those two biggies ourselves so we don't have to pay you to do it, and you'd priced it out including your execution of those two features... but, *sigh* ok, that's fine. The difference isn't much at all, and we're okay with it, so we'll take that.
They'll pay $xxxx in closing costs - um, as opposed to us paying $yyyy in closing costs? And this is going to cost you more. Yeah. That's weird, but we'll take it. Gift. Horse. Mouth. Got it.
They want double the earnest money. Huh? Um, okay... I don't know why. You've got one check and now you want another one just like it. If you could see my nails right now, you'd know we're serious.
And then the really weird one. They countered our ten-day closing with not a 30-day closing, but a 45-day closing!! WHAT?! No! Why? Now, this is a bit of a deal breaker. There is no way we can get the house clean enough to move into by the end of September if we can't take possession for another 45 days... and our locked rate on the mortgage expires way before then. No. Why?
The house is vacant - nobody has to move out.
The property is abandoned - there is nothing to remove.
The house is closed up and busily molding at this point - and that's okay.
You have nothing to fix, repair, clean, mow, or even titter over. This is a completely "as-is" sale - so it's not like you need time to get things done there.
We want to give you your money SOONER rather than later...
That last one, we don't get. At all. If, however, we can come to a compromise on that point, then, my friends, we will have a home. Then, and only then, will I get all excited and girl-like over it and tell y'all about it. Until then, I'm doing all I can not to let my nerves make contact with my hormones. Baking soda and vinegar have nuthin' on this combination, trust me.
The realtor has sent the bank an email inquiring to the import the bank lays on this 45-day closing date and it's negotiability. I have eaten three rolls of Tums and washed it all down with a dose of Rescue Remedy. (Followed by more Tums - I always forget how nasty that stress-relief tincture tastes.) And we still don't really know much more.
Zorak says it's all going to be okay, they just want to make sure they leave as nasty a taste as possible in my mouth first. If that's the case, I'll buy a case of Mentos and I can outlast them. Oh yes, this is where my gypsy blood comes into play. It's stubborn, and since I've been ousted from the camp, I need a camp of my own. So bring it on, folks! You cannot out-weird me. Oh no.
Part III... I have no idea when part three will come. Hopefully soon, though, because I only have three fingernails left.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Tuesday, August 9
Old Joke, New Twist
How do you make a housewife neurotic?
...
...
...
I'll tell you later.
*ha ha ha*
********************************************************
Yep. Today's "Part Two" must be postponed until tomorrow because the bulk of the post has not been revealed to me yet, either!
That joke is a lot funnier in its original context...
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
...
...
...
I'll tell you later.
*ha ha ha*
********************************************************
Yep. Today's "Part Two" must be postponed until tomorrow because the bulk of the post has not been revealed to me yet, either!
That joke is a lot funnier in its original context...
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Monday, August 8
It's almost over (yay!)
Thanks for the prayers today. Please keep praying. Here's the skinny (aka - boring house hunting details follow...)
So the land bank has had our application for a week now. We were to have an answer, one way or the other, by Thursday. Last Thursday. No word. Nothing Friday, either. We called the realtor and left messages. No word back. Not Friday. Not Saturday. Not Sunday.
In the meantime, we were told that the interest rate for a land loan is about two WHOLE points higher than on a conventional loan, and even one point higher even than we'd been told before. That was information we didn't have before. Ouch.
Our lease expired the end of July and our rent went up another hundred and fifty dollars. OK... This isn't getting any better.
SO, we decided over the weekend that if there were any more hurdles to this loan, it was time to pull the plug. It's grown too big. It's taking too long, and it is not going to be feasible. It's a real mess. But, we wanted to touch base today, hoping we'd have a final answer, one way or the other.
When I called this morning, we got our answer. They hadn't received a signed contract from the realtor last week. They still did not have the letter from the appraiser (another part the realtor was to have taken to them). The bank had not done their new appraisal. They had not even pulled Zorak's credit yet. Nothing. They had not done one single thing last week. At all. And the interest rate went up again.
Well, those are hurdles. At this point, we'd have to wait another two weeks to hear back as to whether or not they are even willing to do the loan with no money down. That puts us an extra two months here in the apartment, IF the loan can be done, trying to swing both an increased rental payment and a much higher mortgage payment than anticipated. And that pretty much takes out any leeway we had. Timer dings. Time's up.
We called the realtor back to withdraw the offer. Suddenly, she's available. And now, she's gung-ho on keeping this deal alive. Which, yes, I can appreciate her perspective. But when she calls us now and says she is meeting with the president of the bank to get this deal pushed through... we can't help but wonder where she was a month ago when we were trying to get the ball rolling? She knew this was a matter of getting things done and closing by the end of the month. We've been very upfront about the situation. But the bare facts are that we cannot get the financing we need, and we can't seem to be able to get anything pushed through in a timely manner and the eleventh hour is not the time to bring out your connections and "make it happen". The window has closed.
It was a difficult decision to make, and although we're not happy to have had to make it, we know it was right. If we kept pushing and pulling, we'd have ended up with no capital to make repairs and payments far above what we could budget. That's the best case scenario. The most likely result is that we'd have stayed in limbo another two weeks, only to get the final "no" and then be left to start again from square one.
So. There we are. And it's actually good. Not spectacular, but definitely the right decision. For a number of reasons.
Part two tomorrow...
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
So the land bank has had our application for a week now. We were to have an answer, one way or the other, by Thursday. Last Thursday. No word. Nothing Friday, either. We called the realtor and left messages. No word back. Not Friday. Not Saturday. Not Sunday.
In the meantime, we were told that the interest rate for a land loan is about two WHOLE points higher than on a conventional loan, and even one point higher even than we'd been told before. That was information we didn't have before. Ouch.
Our lease expired the end of July and our rent went up another hundred and fifty dollars. OK... This isn't getting any better.
SO, we decided over the weekend that if there were any more hurdles to this loan, it was time to pull the plug. It's grown too big. It's taking too long, and it is not going to be feasible. It's a real mess. But, we wanted to touch base today, hoping we'd have a final answer, one way or the other.
When I called this morning, we got our answer. They hadn't received a signed contract from the realtor last week. They still did not have the letter from the appraiser (another part the realtor was to have taken to them). The bank had not done their new appraisal. They had not even pulled Zorak's credit yet. Nothing. They had not done one single thing last week. At all. And the interest rate went up again.
Well, those are hurdles. At this point, we'd have to wait another two weeks to hear back as to whether or not they are even willing to do the loan with no money down. That puts us an extra two months here in the apartment, IF the loan can be done, trying to swing both an increased rental payment and a much higher mortgage payment than anticipated. And that pretty much takes out any leeway we had. Timer dings. Time's up.
We called the realtor back to withdraw the offer. Suddenly, she's available. And now, she's gung-ho on keeping this deal alive. Which, yes, I can appreciate her perspective. But when she calls us now and says she is meeting with the president of the bank to get this deal pushed through... we can't help but wonder where she was a month ago when we were trying to get the ball rolling? She knew this was a matter of getting things done and closing by the end of the month. We've been very upfront about the situation. But the bare facts are that we cannot get the financing we need, and we can't seem to be able to get anything pushed through in a timely manner and the eleventh hour is not the time to bring out your connections and "make it happen". The window has closed.
It was a difficult decision to make, and although we're not happy to have had to make it, we know it was right. If we kept pushing and pulling, we'd have ended up with no capital to make repairs and payments far above what we could budget. That's the best case scenario. The most likely result is that we'd have stayed in limbo another two weeks, only to get the final "no" and then be left to start again from square one.
So. There we are. And it's actually good. Not spectacular, but definitely the right decision. For a number of reasons.
Part two tomorrow...
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
The Big Week
Today I need to make a Phone Call. Yes, with capital letters. It's a big one. Zorak and I had a great heart-to-heart last night, inspired by a comment Melissa made during our chat yesterday, and bolstered by our mutual goal of enjoying our family to the best of our ability - not to mention that right now it's all about the boys. Yup, the boys. (Not that we forgot that, we didn't, but we needed a recalibration.) So. Phone Call. Then I'll blog more later. Please pray for a clear path and a clear understanding of what step to take next. We truly appreciate it.
And did I mention Ben & Claudia will be here in just two more days?!?!? WOOHOO!!! She called yesterday and they're on their way!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
And did I mention Ben & Claudia will be here in just two more days?!?!? WOOHOO!!! She called yesterday and they're on their way!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Saturday, August 6
What Joy!
Once we became comfortable with the idea that if this isn't our Forever Home that we're waiting on, we also embraced the idea that our Forever Home is still out there, waiting just as patiently (?) for us. With that in mind, we've switched to Plan Q and set out to line up backup properties. Today we found a good one. Now it's a waiting game. Either way, we are hopeful that we will have a home by week's end. How exciting is that?
Another day spent just astounded that the boys are so good-natured and sweet about this whole house hunting thing. They're good to their baby brother, and they are respectful toward the adults we encounter. They find joy in kittens and birds and stray bugs. They jump to share their finds with one another, and giggle in conspiratorial tones. I "get" siblings now, and Zorak was right. It is a wonderful, wonderful thing to have siblings.
Right now, though, I am an emotional wreck. A happy, less-tense wreck, but there's still a lot of bent metal and taut wire laying about. I need to go 'nuggle and iron the guys' clothes for church tomorrow, then try to hit the hay before midnight.
Thank you all for sharing your humor, your wisdom, your anecdotes, and your faith in this adventure. It's been great on this end, and your comments at the end of each day are always a way to make me smile and encourage me to remember just how good it really is.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Another day spent just astounded that the boys are so good-natured and sweet about this whole house hunting thing. They're good to their baby brother, and they are respectful toward the adults we encounter. They find joy in kittens and birds and stray bugs. They jump to share their finds with one another, and giggle in conspiratorial tones. I "get" siblings now, and Zorak was right. It is a wonderful, wonderful thing to have siblings.
Right now, though, I am an emotional wreck. A happy, less-tense wreck, but there's still a lot of bent metal and taut wire laying about. I need to go 'nuggle and iron the guys' clothes for church tomorrow, then try to hit the hay before midnight.
Thank you all for sharing your humor, your wisdom, your anecdotes, and your faith in this adventure. It's been great on this end, and your comments at the end of each day are always a way to make me smile and encourage me to remember just how good it really is.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Friday, August 5
OMGoodness!!! I'm so excited!
I just got the second best call I could have received!! (The first being a decision - one way or the other - on our home. Sorry, Claudia.) BUT, that aside, Claudia just called me to say that she and her wonderful family are on their way out this week!!
Ben & Claudia were our Wonderful Neighbors when we lived in Arizona. More than that, they were also our best friends, and have remained among our dearest and most cherished over the years. I don't know how many months of sleep we lost from late nights in the kitchen talking religion, politics, and other taboo subjects. And yes, all four of us packed into a one-butt apartment kitchen - that'll tell you how close we are, eh? We had the same midwife, the same naturopath. We shopped at the same gun shop, and they were among the few people we are comfortable shooting with. Claudia and I stayed home with the little ones, and the guys were in school together. They are Our Kind of Weird.
Ben is the guy who made the comment that has endeared me to him permanently: "If I thought you were really screwing up raising the boys, Charles and I would have it out in the parking lot before we'd ever call CPS." Now, that, my friends, is a good friend: one who loves you no matter what, will tell you when you're wrong, puts your children's good ahead of his own, and knows that it's all about the people not the government.
Claudia didn't think I was weird when I made a BUNDUHT, Bundit, Bunth... a cake for a celebration. She even put flowers in the middle, and we laughed ourselves silly while the guys looked askance and silently vowed never to let us go to the movies by ourselves again. She and I have prayed together, grown together, tried to work out together (we end up laughing too hard and it hurts to move, so that hasn't ever really worked out well), and have encouraged one another over the years.
We've missed their little Samster (the one John stalked with the paper towel tube/pirate's telescope) and have never held their little David. John wasn't speaking English the last time they saw him, and James was still a fat little toddler. There is going to be a whole lot of goofy oogling of the babies all around! The boys will be thrilled. They miss Mr. Ben and Miss Claudia. They love talking to Sam on the phone, and are still somewhat convinced Baby David is a mythological creature.
I'm just so excited. We'll have three days to show them around and hope that they fall as deeply in love with Huntsville as we have... because this is a recon trip for a possible move out here! WOOHOO!! They've promised to ignore the "hot 'n sticky", so I think there's a chance.
Anyhow, this is also going to help take my mind of the absolutely brain-disolving tension of waiting, waiting, waiting for a decision on the Forever Home. *whew* Thankful for that, too! So, if you had three days to extol the virtues of Huntsville, what would you do?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Ben & Claudia were our Wonderful Neighbors when we lived in Arizona. More than that, they were also our best friends, and have remained among our dearest and most cherished over the years. I don't know how many months of sleep we lost from late nights in the kitchen talking religion, politics, and other taboo subjects. And yes, all four of us packed into a one-butt apartment kitchen - that'll tell you how close we are, eh? We had the same midwife, the same naturopath. We shopped at the same gun shop, and they were among the few people we are comfortable shooting with. Claudia and I stayed home with the little ones, and the guys were in school together. They are Our Kind of Weird.
Ben is the guy who made the comment that has endeared me to him permanently: "If I thought you were really screwing up raising the boys, Charles and I would have it out in the parking lot before we'd ever call CPS." Now, that, my friends, is a good friend: one who loves you no matter what, will tell you when you're wrong, puts your children's good ahead of his own, and knows that it's all about the people not the government.
Claudia didn't think I was weird when I made a BUNDUHT, Bundit, Bunth... a cake for a celebration. She even put flowers in the middle, and we laughed ourselves silly while the guys looked askance and silently vowed never to let us go to the movies by ourselves again. She and I have prayed together, grown together, tried to work out together (we end up laughing too hard and it hurts to move, so that hasn't ever really worked out well), and have encouraged one another over the years.
We've missed their little Samster (the one John stalked with the paper towel tube/pirate's telescope) and have never held their little David. John wasn't speaking English the last time they saw him, and James was still a fat little toddler. There is going to be a whole lot of goofy oogling of the babies all around! The boys will be thrilled. They miss Mr. Ben and Miss Claudia. They love talking to Sam on the phone, and are still somewhat convinced Baby David is a mythological creature.
I'm just so excited. We'll have three days to show them around and hope that they fall as deeply in love with Huntsville as we have... because this is a recon trip for a possible move out here! WOOHOO!! They've promised to ignore the "hot 'n sticky", so I think there's a chance.
Anyhow, this is also going to help take my mind of the absolutely brain-disolving tension of waiting, waiting, waiting for a decision on the Forever Home. *whew* Thankful for that, too! So, if you had three days to extol the virtues of Huntsville, what would you do?
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Happy Retirement!
It's my retirement party? I'll do the BBQ, if someone else will make the cake!
The boys had their second swim class yesterday. We have spent every day at the pool, and they've done wonderfully. John spends most of his time underwater playing games (rock, paper, scissors; ring around the rosie; watch me sink). James still can't get his skinny little frame to float on his back, but he can lay back, sink about a foot and a half underwater and swim 20 feet like a crawdad. They love it. We are there over an hour each day. They motor all over the pool without floaties or assistance.
So why, WHY, I ask, does John go into psycho panic mode when he's in class? *sigh* I stayed home with Smidge last night while Zorak took the boys. He called to let me know they were heading home and mentioned that John started a mutiny. Evidently hysterical crying is somewhat contagious (who knew?) and he managed to undermine the confidence of darn near the entire class. By the end of the hour, most of them were crying. Including James, who was still teary-eyed when they got back about having to jump into the four foot end. Ahhh, that's my boy. Poor kid. Poor other kids. Poor instructor. I don't get it, and I don't know how to help him get over this, considering he doesn't do it at the pool with me. I do know that next time, we'll hit the pool earlier in the day (*whine*) and then I'll see if I can get John to be still long enough to nap. Lessons do come so late in the day, and I'm sure he's pretty pooped, which isn't helping.
Oooh! Ooh! I'm not sure how correct this is, but I've heard tell that there are only a few more weeks left of this heat! Part of me is afraid to call the lady back and confirm that I heard her right. :-) I'll just live with the dream, thank you.
After talking with LB, who gave herself a funky short haircut and loves it (and who mentioned that in addition to helping to deal with the heat and humidity, it also makes tick checks infinitely easier!), I've been so tempted to follow her lead. I broached the subject with Zorak last night, who looked at me with the saddest expression on his face and said, "I will let it be cold again someday." *snort* OK, thanks, honey, I'll keep that in mind. I don't think I'll be able to pull it off this summer, but next spring, the Easter Barber is going to make a visit to my house!
And really, that's about all there is here. I can't share the conversations that have taken place in our home surrounding the search for a backup property if our Forever Home can't get financing. They are either way too weird for public consideration or... well, let's just stick with that, shall we? Zorak is realizing he married a g-i-r-l, and I am learning to embrace the unique qualities of having married an e-n-g-i-n-e-e-r. It's a learning process for everybody involved. But even at it's most bizarre, it's good.
I'm off to enjoy some blogrunning (the only kind of running endorsed by some joint association, I'm sure!) and coffee before the boys are up.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
The boys had their second swim class yesterday. We have spent every day at the pool, and they've done wonderfully. John spends most of his time underwater playing games (rock, paper, scissors; ring around the rosie; watch me sink). James still can't get his skinny little frame to float on his back, but he can lay back, sink about a foot and a half underwater and swim 20 feet like a crawdad. They love it. We are there over an hour each day. They motor all over the pool without floaties or assistance.
So why, WHY, I ask, does John go into psycho panic mode when he's in class? *sigh* I stayed home with Smidge last night while Zorak took the boys. He called to let me know they were heading home and mentioned that John started a mutiny. Evidently hysterical crying is somewhat contagious (who knew?) and he managed to undermine the confidence of darn near the entire class. By the end of the hour, most of them were crying. Including James, who was still teary-eyed when they got back about having to jump into the four foot end. Ahhh, that's my boy. Poor kid. Poor other kids. Poor instructor. I don't get it, and I don't know how to help him get over this, considering he doesn't do it at the pool with me. I do know that next time, we'll hit the pool earlier in the day (*whine*) and then I'll see if I can get John to be still long enough to nap. Lessons do come so late in the day, and I'm sure he's pretty pooped, which isn't helping.
Oooh! Ooh! I'm not sure how correct this is, but I've heard tell that there are only a few more weeks left of this heat! Part of me is afraid to call the lady back and confirm that I heard her right. :-) I'll just live with the dream, thank you.
After talking with LB, who gave herself a funky short haircut and loves it (and who mentioned that in addition to helping to deal with the heat and humidity, it also makes tick checks infinitely easier!), I've been so tempted to follow her lead. I broached the subject with Zorak last night, who looked at me with the saddest expression on his face and said, "I will let it be cold again someday." *snort* OK, thanks, honey, I'll keep that in mind. I don't think I'll be able to pull it off this summer, but next spring, the Easter Barber is going to make a visit to my house!
And really, that's about all there is here. I can't share the conversations that have taken place in our home surrounding the search for a backup property if our Forever Home can't get financing. They are either way too weird for public consideration or... well, let's just stick with that, shall we? Zorak is realizing he married a g-i-r-l, and I am learning to embrace the unique qualities of having married an e-n-g-i-n-e-e-r. It's a learning process for everybody involved. But even at it's most bizarre, it's good.
I'm off to enjoy some blogrunning (the only kind of running endorsed by some joint association, I'm sure!) and coffee before the boys are up.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Wednesday, August 3
There is NO WAY it's only Wednesday
I'm Friday-tired! By Friday, I'll be ready for retirement. Wow. That went fast. And yet I still don't feel a day over 32...
The boys swam and swam and swam today. For two hours, they swam. They played underwater games. They burned up energy they'd been saving for Christmas. They had a great time.
Today was evidently Negligent Parent Day at the pool. All around the pool and on floating islands in the deep end were oiled women basking with their eyes closed, while over in the shallow end, there was me and seven children, only three of which were mine. The only ones over the ripe old age of four were my oldest two. My arms hurt. My back hurts. But mostly, my heart hurts. It shouldn't be some strange lady whose name you don't know who cheers you on when you get the diving stick. It shouldn't be a total stranger who catches your trusting little body as you jump into the big pool. And if you can't swim, your parents should, at the very least, have their eyes open while you're in the water. (I would say they should be IN the water, but at this point, I'd be happy with a little recognition that these little people are somehow your responsibility!! Come on, people!)
One little guy, in particular, just really tugged at my heartstrings. He was so enthusiastic and ready to do anything Smidge was doing. He jumped over and over and over again, and we motored all around the shallow end. He retrieved the ball for Smidge when it got too far away. He is three. He was very tired (too tired to be in the water anymore), and would try with all his might to swim over to his mother's floating island to get her attention. His head would dip under and water filled his mouth. You could see him focusing on her, trying not to panic, but unable to get anything out, to call for help. More than once I lifted him up so he could catch his breath and then he asked to come back with us to the edge of the pool rather than going back to the middle to his mother. I set him on the edge and helped him relax a bit. I love children, and as long as they aren't endangering my children, I'm willing to welcome any child to join us in play. But that's not what this is about - this woman is going to spend this child's 15th year wondering what happened to "the sweet little boy" she didn't have time for, and it's going to be ugly. The only contact she responded to was once, when Smidge threw a fit (it was naptime, and we were almost ready to go), she screamed at her boy, demanding to know what he was doing over there and to leave us alone. *groan*
As much as I wanted to say something, that really would not have made things better for those kids, or probably - considering the language that was flying when these women weren't angry - for mine, either. While a poolside catfight might inspire some folks, it's not going to encourage anyone to make positive parenting changes. So what do you do? You let the kids laugh with you and you share with them the words of encouragement you share with your children. You catch them when they jump, and pick them up when they sink. And when you're home again, with just your children, you pull your own children closer and hug them just a little tighter, and hope...
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
The boys swam and swam and swam today. For two hours, they swam. They played underwater games. They burned up energy they'd been saving for Christmas. They had a great time.
Today was evidently Negligent Parent Day at the pool. All around the pool and on floating islands in the deep end were oiled women basking with their eyes closed, while over in the shallow end, there was me and seven children, only three of which were mine. The only ones over the ripe old age of four were my oldest two. My arms hurt. My back hurts. But mostly, my heart hurts. It shouldn't be some strange lady whose name you don't know who cheers you on when you get the diving stick. It shouldn't be a total stranger who catches your trusting little body as you jump into the big pool. And if you can't swim, your parents should, at the very least, have their eyes open while you're in the water. (I would say they should be IN the water, but at this point, I'd be happy with a little recognition that these little people are somehow your responsibility!! Come on, people!)
One little guy, in particular, just really tugged at my heartstrings. He was so enthusiastic and ready to do anything Smidge was doing. He jumped over and over and over again, and we motored all around the shallow end. He retrieved the ball for Smidge when it got too far away. He is three. He was very tired (too tired to be in the water anymore), and would try with all his might to swim over to his mother's floating island to get her attention. His head would dip under and water filled his mouth. You could see him focusing on her, trying not to panic, but unable to get anything out, to call for help. More than once I lifted him up so he could catch his breath and then he asked to come back with us to the edge of the pool rather than going back to the middle to his mother. I set him on the edge and helped him relax a bit. I love children, and as long as they aren't endangering my children, I'm willing to welcome any child to join us in play. But that's not what this is about - this woman is going to spend this child's 15th year wondering what happened to "the sweet little boy" she didn't have time for, and it's going to be ugly. The only contact she responded to was once, when Smidge threw a fit (it was naptime, and we were almost ready to go), she screamed at her boy, demanding to know what he was doing over there and to leave us alone. *groan*
As much as I wanted to say something, that really would not have made things better for those kids, or probably - considering the language that was flying when these women weren't angry - for mine, either. While a poolside catfight might inspire some folks, it's not going to encourage anyone to make positive parenting changes. So what do you do? You let the kids laugh with you and you share with them the words of encouragement you share with your children. You catch them when they jump, and pick them up when they sink. And when you're home again, with just your children, you pull your own children closer and hug them just a little tighter, and hope...
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Just a general blog entry
Zorak and I have accepted that there are two ways the loan application can go: we'll get it, or we won't. I know, Rocket Science. The nice part is that we're okay either way. We've been oogling some really funky properties for around $20K that we could buy and fix up. And we know we could get a loan for them! *ha ha ha*
Um, yes. We are insane. But we're insane together, so we don't really notice it much.
The boys started their class swim lessons today. I think the only drawback is that it's just two days a week, but otherwise, we're really tickled with the class, the structure, and the instruction. They were both so proud of their participation and progress in class today. It's worth hauling everyone to the pool each day -- worth it a thousand times over, just for the smiles and enthusiasm.
I don't know what the high was today, but on the way back from swim (around six-thirty), the readout on the doctor's sign by the house (which is actually in the shade) read "99'" EWWWWW!! Thankfully, the humidity had dropped below 90%, so it almost felt like a dry heat. Have I mentioned that this place is going to be gorgeous in the fall?
Oh, and if any of you happen to know which box I put the MUS blocks in, I'd love a hint.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Um, yes. We are insane. But we're insane together, so we don't really notice it much.
The boys started their class swim lessons today. I think the only drawback is that it's just two days a week, but otherwise, we're really tickled with the class, the structure, and the instruction. They were both so proud of their participation and progress in class today. It's worth hauling everyone to the pool each day -- worth it a thousand times over, just for the smiles and enthusiasm.
I don't know what the high was today, but on the way back from swim (around six-thirty), the readout on the doctor's sign by the house (which is actually in the shade) read "99'" EWWWWW!! Thankfully, the humidity had dropped below 90%, so it almost felt like a dry heat. Have I mentioned that this place is going to be gorgeous in the fall?
Oh, and if any of you happen to know which box I put the MUS blocks in, I'd love a hint.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Tuesday, August 2
Taking a Break
I'd planned to submerge myself and my small appendages in the pool today, to float and feel weightless and silly. But we wrangled an unexpected meeting with the Land Bank Guy at one.
We lugged our packet (for the record, Zorak's security clearance applications weren't this thick!) and nervously crept into his office to drop off the package, ask a million questions, and then slink back out. The boys sat at a large mahogany desk, doing word puzzles and quietly telling each other jokes. I didn't hear parts of the meeting because I was really engrossed in just watching the boys. Well, I've been praying to keep my priorities in line, and once that folder left my hot little hands, there was nothing left for me to do. So I enjoyed my boys. Tremendously. They were so sweet!
We tried to get a temporary pass for me so that I could drop off Zorak once in a while and have transportation. That didn't happen. The lady at the pass office is, oh, what is the term? Oh, yes, "disgruntled federal employee". Whoever thought she needed to be dealing with the public doesn't like people! After repeatedly shouting at Zorak, "SECURITY OFFICER! SECURITY OFFICER!!" (instructing him to talk to his security officer, not calling for one, thankfully) she turned on me and, in true Soup Nazi style, informed me that if (AND ONLY IF!) I somehow miraculously get approved for a pass, I can only drop him off and leave. I'd better not ever get out of the car. Ever. Or NO PASS FOR YOU! Oooooookay...
We went to the Security Officer, who fails miserably at being the terrifying ogre the pass lady wants her to be, and she explained the whole process to us while the boys played with her Zen Garden and the little rubber dog with the peppercorn "poop" strewn around the garden. (Engineers have warped humor... that's all I can say.) The Pass Nazi was not only excessively loud, but she was wrong. The Security Officer does not issue spousal passes. She was right, in that they aren't the same friendly, "come see our MWR, play on our beaches, and enjoy our parks" kind of passes that PAX offered, but still, the process wasn't as scary as all that. Silly Pass Nazi.
We came home. The boys watched a movie and/or napped. I slept like the dead for two hours, until Zorak came in to ask, "Honey, do you know a Jean?" OH! JEAN! Yes, we loaded up and headed down to Cracker Barrel to have a late-late dinner with the traveling Jean in Wisc. and her children. Wow. Her children are so pleasant. She is so sweet and funny. I wish we'd had a couple of days at our leisure. As it was, we had a late dinner and although they must have all been exhausted, we really enjoyed being able to meet with them. For the record, if we ever have a daughter, I want Jean's parenting tips, in hardbound copy with margin notes. Jean in Wisc. and Melissa in VA need to co-author a book on raising daughters. Pretty please???
Smidge and John were out cold and drooling by the time we got home. James was awake only through concerted effort not to stop talking. After he had some snuggle time, he was also off to dreamland.
So we'll take the day off tomorrow: today was worth being there for. Definitely.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
We lugged our packet (for the record, Zorak's security clearance applications weren't this thick!) and nervously crept into his office to drop off the package, ask a million questions, and then slink back out. The boys sat at a large mahogany desk, doing word puzzles and quietly telling each other jokes. I didn't hear parts of the meeting because I was really engrossed in just watching the boys. Well, I've been praying to keep my priorities in line, and once that folder left my hot little hands, there was nothing left for me to do. So I enjoyed my boys. Tremendously. They were so sweet!
We tried to get a temporary pass for me so that I could drop off Zorak once in a while and have transportation. That didn't happen. The lady at the pass office is, oh, what is the term? Oh, yes, "disgruntled federal employee". Whoever thought she needed to be dealing with the public doesn't like people! After repeatedly shouting at Zorak, "SECURITY OFFICER! SECURITY OFFICER!!" (instructing him to talk to his security officer, not calling for one, thankfully) she turned on me and, in true Soup Nazi style, informed me that if (AND ONLY IF!) I somehow miraculously get approved for a pass, I can only drop him off and leave. I'd better not ever get out of the car. Ever. Or NO PASS FOR YOU! Oooooookay...
We went to the Security Officer, who fails miserably at being the terrifying ogre the pass lady wants her to be, and she explained the whole process to us while the boys played with her Zen Garden and the little rubber dog with the peppercorn "poop" strewn around the garden. (Engineers have warped humor... that's all I can say.) The Pass Nazi was not only excessively loud, but she was wrong. The Security Officer does not issue spousal passes. She was right, in that they aren't the same friendly, "come see our MWR, play on our beaches, and enjoy our parks" kind of passes that PAX offered, but still, the process wasn't as scary as all that. Silly Pass Nazi.
We came home. The boys watched a movie and/or napped. I slept like the dead for two hours, until Zorak came in to ask, "Honey, do you know a Jean?" OH! JEAN! Yes, we loaded up and headed down to Cracker Barrel to have a late-late dinner with the traveling Jean in Wisc. and her children. Wow. Her children are so pleasant. She is so sweet and funny. I wish we'd had a couple of days at our leisure. As it was, we had a late dinner and although they must have all been exhausted, we really enjoyed being able to meet with them. For the record, if we ever have a daughter, I want Jean's parenting tips, in hardbound copy with margin notes. Jean in Wisc. and Melissa in VA need to co-author a book on raising daughters. Pretty please???
Smidge and John were out cold and drooling by the time we got home. James was awake only through concerted effort not to stop talking. After he had some snuggle time, he was also off to dreamland.
So we'll take the day off tomorrow: today was worth being there for. Definitely.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Monday, August 1
What Makes You Laugh?
Our humor standards are admitedly pretty low around here. If you want a guaranteed laugh out of four of the five of us, just ask a question - any question - and then fart as the answer. It's shameful, I know. (If it helps my reputation any, I willingly point out that Smidge laughs at these things, not me. He's the fourth gunman.) The boys make us laugh. Sometimes on purpose, sometimes just by being themselves. It's fun to watch them become aware of the intricacies of humor and how it works, too.
Since just about anything is funny, there is a LOT of laughter in our home. It isn't all along the base quality of bodily functions, although those do seem innately part of the territory when you have a house full of boys. (I swear, nobody taught them to high-five each other when one of them does something loudly, or uniquely, or spontaneously.) Also, puns and word plays are huge hits here. We try to steer dinner table conversation toward the more cerebral humor, which sometimes works, sometimes not. The boys really enjoy rhyming games, made-up stories, and riddles. Zorak and I really enjoy watching the boys enjoy these things.
Tonight, Smidge came to the table covered in black and blue woolen Indian blanket lint. I didn't know they had lint, nor did I know it would stick to a toddler. It seems that if the toddler is first coated in whistle-pop drool and then wrapped in the blanket, he comes out looking a little like a bruised, mangy teddy bear. The boys found this hilarious. Smidge found their good humor infectous. "Why did he do that, Dad?" Well, that's just what babies do...
Then they wanted to know what funny things they'd done when they were Smidge's age...
So we told them "when you were Smidge's age" stories, and oh, how they laughed. John's stealth attack on the pinata head; the year and a half he spent with the Toddler Inquisition - just walking into a room with his hands outstretched, "Where'd it GO? I don't know!" and roaming out again, still talking to himself (we never did find out what he was looking for); his tendency to flush just one sock from each pair down the commode and how we could not figure out where all his socks were going; the way he would leap into a doorway, shout "Buggah!" and then disappear...
They laughed and giggled.
James' household redecoration project comprised mainly of a Costco-sized sqeeze bottle of mustard; his first (and only) failed gas joke; his Kermit-Must-Die campaign the Christmas of 2000; the time he stacked everything on Miss Heather's counter into her toilet and flushed (thankfully, only the contact lenses could get down the drain)...
the boys howled with laughter.
John laughed so hard he choked.
James had tears streaming down his face.
Smidge laughed and squealed, until it got too loud for his taste. Then he stood on the couch, pointing and growling, and doing a priceless imitation of my Mom when she was irritated but not willing to let you in on why. He had us doubled up with laughter.
It wasn't so much the stories themselves (some were simply not humorous at the time they occurred), but the connections the boys saw between themselves (who they generally view as rational and intelligent beings) and Smidge (who can be completely alien sometimes), and the realization that we all do silly things from time to time. It's refreshing to know that it's ok, and we get out in one piece, and in the end, we really can laugh about it later. I think the boys enjoyed knowing that, remembering that.
By the time we'd cleared the table and put everyone to bed, things were quieter. Occasionally we'd hear a wee little voice from the bedroom whisper, "Buggah!" and fits of stiffled giggles ensued, but thankfully Zorak and I were on the porch, where the boys couldn't hear us.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Since just about anything is funny, there is a LOT of laughter in our home. It isn't all along the base quality of bodily functions, although those do seem innately part of the territory when you have a house full of boys. (I swear, nobody taught them to high-five each other when one of them does something loudly, or uniquely, or spontaneously.) Also, puns and word plays are huge hits here. We try to steer dinner table conversation toward the more cerebral humor, which sometimes works, sometimes not. The boys really enjoy rhyming games, made-up stories, and riddles. Zorak and I really enjoy watching the boys enjoy these things.
Tonight, Smidge came to the table covered in black and blue woolen Indian blanket lint. I didn't know they had lint, nor did I know it would stick to a toddler. It seems that if the toddler is first coated in whistle-pop drool and then wrapped in the blanket, he comes out looking a little like a bruised, mangy teddy bear. The boys found this hilarious. Smidge found their good humor infectous. "Why did he do that, Dad?" Well, that's just what babies do...
Then they wanted to know what funny things they'd done when they were Smidge's age...
So we told them "when you were Smidge's age" stories, and oh, how they laughed. John's stealth attack on the pinata head; the year and a half he spent with the Toddler Inquisition - just walking into a room with his hands outstretched, "Where'd it GO? I don't know!" and roaming out again, still talking to himself (we never did find out what he was looking for); his tendency to flush just one sock from each pair down the commode and how we could not figure out where all his socks were going; the way he would leap into a doorway, shout "Buggah!" and then disappear...
They laughed and giggled.
James' household redecoration project comprised mainly of a Costco-sized sqeeze bottle of mustard; his first (and only) failed gas joke; his Kermit-Must-Die campaign the Christmas of 2000; the time he stacked everything on Miss Heather's counter into her toilet and flushed (thankfully, only the contact lenses could get down the drain)...
the boys howled with laughter.
John laughed so hard he choked.
James had tears streaming down his face.
Smidge laughed and squealed, until it got too loud for his taste. Then he stood on the couch, pointing and growling, and doing a priceless imitation of my Mom when she was irritated but not willing to let you in on why. He had us doubled up with laughter.
It wasn't so much the stories themselves (some were simply not humorous at the time they occurred), but the connections the boys saw between themselves (who they generally view as rational and intelligent beings) and Smidge (who can be completely alien sometimes), and the realization that we all do silly things from time to time. It's refreshing to know that it's ok, and we get out in one piece, and in the end, we really can laugh about it later. I think the boys enjoyed knowing that, remembering that.
By the time we'd cleared the table and put everyone to bed, things were quieter. Occasionally we'd hear a wee little voice from the bedroom whisper, "Buggah!" and fits of stiffled giggles ensued, but thankfully Zorak and I were on the porch, where the boys couldn't hear us.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Sunday, July 31
Deep thoughts out of left field
I started out to answer Jo's bit about what she'd like to see more of on my blog. But it's almost three in the morning, and it morphed. It morphed in a BIG WAY, because who I am now is due to all the things that brought me here, and the mother I am now is nowhere near the mother I hope and pray to be in five or ten years. I could just spit out platitudes and hope I don't sound trite, but well, with the chores done, the coffee hot, and the house quiet, this blog entry just sort of took off.
Jo, I didn't answer your question very well, and I apologize for that. I'll get around to it, but it seems my answer is buried under a lot of junk. This is going to take a couple of entries.
She wrote:
I... Uh... Hmmm.
Well, ok, I really do enjoy my children. They're the best and finest surprises I've ever received in my life. Smidge was a bit more of a shocker than the first two, but equally welcome and just as cherished. I'm not the best mother in the world. I blow it. I get overwhelmed. I have had to look my children in the eyes and apologize for making a rash or bad decision more than I care to admit. I look back daily and see things I could have done better or should have done differently. Sometimes I drive myself batty with the Monday Morning Quarterbacking. But in general, there is something to cherish in these kids every day. Life. Now, please know I don't throw that out there lightly. Life isn't something I have always cherished. It's not even something I liked at one point. To go from animosity and contempt to utter gratitude and treasured thankfulness isn't a flippant thing.
So I guess I will start there. My first thought when I read her request was that I really can't answer this. I think she has the wrong person. I do NOT have unending amounts of patience. I don't. I'm not even really a very gracious, forgiving, or lenient person. It's been a long, long road of learning these things, and I'm still painfully new at it. I didn't know them growing up. I most certainly didn't learn them in my first marriage. And I can (use your best Justin Wilson voice here) gaaaaaraauuuunteeee I didn't pick any of those traits up during my newly-divorced-recovery period. That leaves me with only about ten years of experience in learning about the good things in life.
It's funny, because as we anticipate the addition of our fourth child to the family, we are so very excited about it. Yet in response to the news, my sister sent me an email letting me know she thinks it's a huge cosmic joke God is playing on me as "payback". She can't believe the "girl who hated being part of a family would go on to have four kids". What she doesn't understand is that not only am I not the "girl" to whom she refers (I've lived in my own home for 15 years and she has been in my home once - and that was only because Mom refused to take her diamond stash to Denny's to be divided up among us kids - this isn't a woman who knows me from Adam at all), but also that I didn't hate being part of a family. I just knew mine was pretty messed up and I wouldn't have wished it on anyone, let alone brought a life into it.
And I didn't want children then. Not because I didn't want a home and a family. I actually yearned for those things with all my heart, but dared not even hope to have them because I was terrified I would be a really, really bad mother. I didn't believe I could be a nice person. I wasn't a forgiving person. I wasn't the kind of person you would describe as "nurturing" or "gentle" even in your most generous of moments. And I knew it, and that terrified me.
But then, by the grace of God, and I mean that literally, things began to change in big ways that I, a) did not welcome, b) did not know how to handle, c) had to handle anyway. The changes are still coming (at least I hope so - I have a long way to go!), but they were jump started by a series of crisis/lesson combos that crystallized any positive change in me to the mother of today from the black-and-white, bitter, angry woman I was. (I'm not saying you are, just that I was, in a big way.)
When I realized Zorak trusted me to be the mother to his children, it was huge. HUGE. Me. With all my faults and flaws and quirks. My temper. My gypsy instability. My stubbornness. My cynicism.
Trust is an amazing, healing, powerful sensation. It makes the recipient want to be worthy of that trust. It's similar to the urging of the Holy Spirit - once we grasp that He trusts us to follow Him, it's easier to let go and do just that. Because suddenly you know someone actually thinks you can do it, and do it beautifully. So you want to. God used Zorak to help me look beyond the walls I'd erected to protect myself and see the potential God had for me. I still didn't think I could do it, but He did. And I don't have to do it perfectly - none of us can, and He knows that, too. It's pretty amazing. And what's more amazing is that for the first time in my life I began to realize I didn't have to do it "all by myself", which I'd always thought was a given. (Duh!) I have my faith to lean on spiritually, and my husband to lean on physically, and all the wonderful people who have come into my life to guide me, chastise me, help me, trust me, and even, when necessary, mock me. Life is GOOD!
So for me, on a daily basis, I am really aware that I don't deserve this. That sensation most people joke about, "who thought we could be parents?" Well, for me that's still a funny joke, but it's not entirely a joke. It's huge. God has trusted me with a husband, and they have both trusted me to be "the Mommy". I get choked up just thinking about what an honor that is.
When I wake up in the morning to toes poking my abdomen and somebody laying on my hair, and a warm, groggy boy asking for food, I want to wrap my arms around them all and just stay. right. there. Forever. But they just keep getting hungrier if you don't feed them, so we get up and get going on our day.
Not before I've had my reminder, though, that someone trusts me to do right by these amazing little lives. Someone trusts me to keep them safe, to make them know they are precious, and to guide them in their growing. It's like God's little post-it note for me. You know, in case I forget.
Seriously, kiss those babies! They're huge, and they need us.
I'll write more tomorrow. I'm never going to stay away during church as it is, but maybe I can get a little rest so I can make it through Sunday School.
~Dy
Jo, I didn't answer your question very well, and I apologize for that. I'll get around to it, but it seems my answer is buried under a lot of junk. This is going to take a couple of entries.
She wrote:
I need you to help me figure out how I can also take so much pleasure in my children. I read your blog and I need your secrets. You seem to have unending amounts of patience and the ability to adore your children at all times. I need that. Share?
I... Uh... Hmmm.
Well, ok, I really do enjoy my children. They're the best and finest surprises I've ever received in my life. Smidge was a bit more of a shocker than the first two, but equally welcome and just as cherished. I'm not the best mother in the world. I blow it. I get overwhelmed. I have had to look my children in the eyes and apologize for making a rash or bad decision more than I care to admit. I look back daily and see things I could have done better or should have done differently. Sometimes I drive myself batty with the Monday Morning Quarterbacking. But in general, there is something to cherish in these kids every day. Life. Now, please know I don't throw that out there lightly. Life isn't something I have always cherished. It's not even something I liked at one point. To go from animosity and contempt to utter gratitude and treasured thankfulness isn't a flippant thing.
So I guess I will start there. My first thought when I read her request was that I really can't answer this. I think she has the wrong person. I do NOT have unending amounts of patience. I don't. I'm not even really a very gracious, forgiving, or lenient person. It's been a long, long road of learning these things, and I'm still painfully new at it. I didn't know them growing up. I most certainly didn't learn them in my first marriage. And I can (use your best Justin Wilson voice here) gaaaaaraauuuunteeee I didn't pick any of those traits up during my newly-divorced-recovery period. That leaves me with only about ten years of experience in learning about the good things in life.
It's funny, because as we anticipate the addition of our fourth child to the family, we are so very excited about it. Yet in response to the news, my sister sent me an email letting me know she thinks it's a huge cosmic joke God is playing on me as "payback". She can't believe the "girl who hated being part of a family would go on to have four kids". What she doesn't understand is that not only am I not the "girl" to whom she refers (I've lived in my own home for 15 years and she has been in my home once - and that was only because Mom refused to take her diamond stash to Denny's to be divided up among us kids - this isn't a woman who knows me from Adam at all), but also that I didn't hate being part of a family. I just knew mine was pretty messed up and I wouldn't have wished it on anyone, let alone brought a life into it.
And I didn't want children then. Not because I didn't want a home and a family. I actually yearned for those things with all my heart, but dared not even hope to have them because I was terrified I would be a really, really bad mother. I didn't believe I could be a nice person. I wasn't a forgiving person. I wasn't the kind of person you would describe as "nurturing" or "gentle" even in your most generous of moments. And I knew it, and that terrified me.
But then, by the grace of God, and I mean that literally, things began to change in big ways that I, a) did not welcome, b) did not know how to handle, c) had to handle anyway. The changes are still coming (at least I hope so - I have a long way to go!), but they were jump started by a series of crisis/lesson combos that crystallized any positive change in me to the mother of today from the black-and-white, bitter, angry woman I was. (I'm not saying you are, just that I was, in a big way.)
When I realized Zorak trusted me to be the mother to his children, it was huge. HUGE. Me. With all my faults and flaws and quirks. My temper. My gypsy instability. My stubbornness. My cynicism.
Trust is an amazing, healing, powerful sensation. It makes the recipient want to be worthy of that trust. It's similar to the urging of the Holy Spirit - once we grasp that He trusts us to follow Him, it's easier to let go and do just that. Because suddenly you know someone actually thinks you can do it, and do it beautifully. So you want to. God used Zorak to help me look beyond the walls I'd erected to protect myself and see the potential God had for me. I still didn't think I could do it, but He did. And I don't have to do it perfectly - none of us can, and He knows that, too. It's pretty amazing. And what's more amazing is that for the first time in my life I began to realize I didn't have to do it "all by myself", which I'd always thought was a given. (Duh!) I have my faith to lean on spiritually, and my husband to lean on physically, and all the wonderful people who have come into my life to guide me, chastise me, help me, trust me, and even, when necessary, mock me. Life is GOOD!
So for me, on a daily basis, I am really aware that I don't deserve this. That sensation most people joke about, "who thought we could be parents?" Well, for me that's still a funny joke, but it's not entirely a joke. It's huge. God has trusted me with a husband, and they have both trusted me to be "the Mommy". I get choked up just thinking about what an honor that is.
When I wake up in the morning to toes poking my abdomen and somebody laying on my hair, and a warm, groggy boy asking for food, I want to wrap my arms around them all and just stay. right. there. Forever. But they just keep getting hungrier if you don't feed them, so we get up and get going on our day.
Not before I've had my reminder, though, that someone trusts me to do right by these amazing little lives. Someone trusts me to keep them safe, to make them know they are precious, and to guide them in their growing. It's like God's little post-it note for me. You know, in case I forget.
Seriously, kiss those babies! They're huge, and they need us.
I'll write more tomorrow. I'm never going to stay away during church as it is, but maybe I can get a little rest so I can make it through Sunday School.
~Dy
Saturday, July 30
Good Saturday Morning!
Today is a day without endless phone calls or negotiations. I am excited about it. We might take the kids to Southern Adventures (I have to check on today's expected high, first!) Or we might go swimming. Whatever we do, it'll be together, as a family, and I'm excited about that.
We have pulled money from stray body parts. We have stood on our heads to get different angles. We thought, for a second, that we'd found an option that might work, but then it came back with an exorbitant interest rate (there is value in doing "outside-the-box properties", as he said, and ours is outside the box, but we couldn't afford his value-added benefits!) Laney even graciously shared her mortgage guy's name, and we talked with him. He can do mortgages here, but not farm properties. However, if anyone needs a loan up in the NE, check that guy out. He got on the horn and got back to me and was very nice about the whole thing! No wonder she likes him. So today we drop off one last Hail Mary package and then there is nothing to be done until next week. I'm glad. My hair hurts.
Costco has clementines!!! WOOHOO! Those are the only oranges we've ever found that are consistently sweet and juicy. They don't go bad, and since they come in a box, there's no stress for me trying to figure out just by osmosis which ones are going to be good. (I'm really bad at picking out good citrus.) So that's what we're having for breakfast. *contented sigh* I love Costco.
I'm not, however, eager to tackle the laundry. If another loan avenue came about that might pan out, I'd drop the wash in a heartbeat and get back on the phone. So, I guess it certainly could be worse, eh? *grin*
What are you guys doing this weekend? I wanna hear about YOU!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
We have pulled money from stray body parts. We have stood on our heads to get different angles. We thought, for a second, that we'd found an option that might work, but then it came back with an exorbitant interest rate (there is value in doing "outside-the-box properties", as he said, and ours is outside the box, but we couldn't afford his value-added benefits!) Laney even graciously shared her mortgage guy's name, and we talked with him. He can do mortgages here, but not farm properties. However, if anyone needs a loan up in the NE, check that guy out. He got on the horn and got back to me and was very nice about the whole thing! No wonder she likes him. So today we drop off one last Hail Mary package and then there is nothing to be done until next week. I'm glad. My hair hurts.
Costco has clementines!!! WOOHOO! Those are the only oranges we've ever found that are consistently sweet and juicy. They don't go bad, and since they come in a box, there's no stress for me trying to figure out just by osmosis which ones are going to be good. (I'm really bad at picking out good citrus.) So that's what we're having for breakfast. *contented sigh* I love Costco.
I'm not, however, eager to tackle the laundry. If another loan avenue came about that might pan out, I'd drop the wash in a heartbeat and get back on the phone. So, I guess it certainly could be worse, eh? *grin*
What are you guys doing this weekend? I wanna hear about YOU!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Friday, July 29
Friday's Update
I am not sure what part of "Can you do loans in Alabama?" translates to, "We're in Lincoln County, Tennessee," but evidently I have a scrambler in my larynx that causes this confusion. Probably ought to have a doctor look at that.
So, this leaves us with the best bet so far now unable to help us. He directed us to another guy we talked to previously, who this guy says "can" do the same thing (although it's interesting that he didn't mention that in our conversations... would've been handy).
Zorak has been talking to a lady in Birmingham who he is excited about. I talked to her briefly and realized that while I still talk too fast for the local folks, I have definitely slowed down a bit and three minutes on the phone with this woman were enough for me to happily let Zorak handle that one. Ugh. How strange.
On the plus side, I did find a termite and bug place that I love. These folks were wonderful and didn't insist on wrangling a trip to the site before giving me any information at all about their process or products. What a relief!
OK, I'm off to recalibrate, eat some lunch, and dive back in.
This will be ok. This will be ok. This will be ok. It would also be nice if it didn't kill me in the process, but this will be ok.
So, this leaves us with the best bet so far now unable to help us. He directed us to another guy we talked to previously, who this guy says "can" do the same thing (although it's interesting that he didn't mention that in our conversations... would've been handy).
Zorak has been talking to a lady in Birmingham who he is excited about. I talked to her briefly and realized that while I still talk too fast for the local folks, I have definitely slowed down a bit and three minutes on the phone with this woman were enough for me to happily let Zorak handle that one. Ugh. How strange.
On the plus side, I did find a termite and bug place that I love. These folks were wonderful and didn't insist on wrangling a trip to the site before giving me any information at all about their process or products. What a relief!
OK, I'm off to recalibrate, eat some lunch, and dive back in.
This will be ok. This will be ok. This will be ok. It would also be nice if it didn't kill me in the process, but this will be ok.
I cannot get sick.
I refuse.
Yet, it's one-thirty and I'm up. I can't get comfortable enough to sleep.
I've been laid up on the couch, puking, moaning and shivering since shortly after my last phone call of the day. This feels like the flu, but with some kind of beating on top of it.
Zorak brought me a crackers and water, made me a "sick jug", rubbed my aching legs and feet, and made fun of me.
I've been on the phone so much today, trying to find someone to do this, that I have run down the batteries on both cell phones and our land phone. All three - dead. Both cells phones were charged, run down, fully recharged and run back down to empty. That is, my friends, a long time on the phone.
But was it worth it, you ask? I don't know. I'd like to think so. I'd like to think there is a law of averages for every "no" that brings us just that much closer to the one "yes" we need. And I am going to cling to that thought with the desperate hope Leo didn't show in Titanic. OK, I might take the dive if I was getting paid that much to do it, but still... it was the best I could come up with in my current condition.
I'm working on an upbeat post. Well, two, actually. The first one I'd like to post will probably include graphics of various people in states of ecstasy - leaping, weeping, and kissing strangers. They might be actual pictures of me, accosting total stranger with my joy over getting a loan. BUT, the back up post includes the funny things that have happened along the way. There have been smiles, there has been laughter that isn't creepy. It's all still good, even right now in the dark of the night with what feels like the result of letting an accupuncturist in the lower 2% of his class practice for finals... and I will share them with you when the fog clears.
Oh, guys, it's not the little things. Not the details. Not the laundry or the broken dishes or the planning. Those things do need attention, but not an inordinate amount of attention. Tomorrow morning, we have to hit the mortgage pavement bright 'n early, get just a little farther down the path. Then it will be out of our hands for a while, and we are going to grab those babies and love on them like they're heading off to college tomorrow. We're going to just soak up the giggles and snuggles, and even take the boundary testing with a grain of salt and a teaspoon of sugar (or perhaps an alcoholic-based tincture, but hey, it's a teaspoon). We are going to spend the day reminding ourselves why we're even attempting this project.
Kiss those babies!
Dy
Yet, it's one-thirty and I'm up. I can't get comfortable enough to sleep.
I've been laid up on the couch, puking, moaning and shivering since shortly after my last phone call of the day. This feels like the flu, but with some kind of beating on top of it.
Zorak brought me a crackers and water, made me a "sick jug", rubbed my aching legs and feet, and made fun of me.
I've been on the phone so much today, trying to find someone to do this, that I have run down the batteries on both cell phones and our land phone. All three - dead. Both cells phones were charged, run down, fully recharged and run back down to empty. That is, my friends, a long time on the phone.
But was it worth it, you ask? I don't know. I'd like to think so. I'd like to think there is a law of averages for every "no" that brings us just that much closer to the one "yes" we need. And I am going to cling to that thought with the desperate hope Leo didn't show in Titanic. OK, I might take the dive if I was getting paid that much to do it, but still... it was the best I could come up with in my current condition.
I'm working on an upbeat post. Well, two, actually. The first one I'd like to post will probably include graphics of various people in states of ecstasy - leaping, weeping, and kissing strangers. They might be actual pictures of me, accosting total stranger with my joy over getting a loan. BUT, the back up post includes the funny things that have happened along the way. There have been smiles, there has been laughter that isn't creepy. It's all still good, even right now in the dark of the night with what feels like the result of letting an accupuncturist in the lower 2% of his class practice for finals... and I will share them with you when the fog clears.
Oh, guys, it's not the little things. Not the details. Not the laundry or the broken dishes or the planning. Those things do need attention, but not an inordinate amount of attention. Tomorrow morning, we have to hit the mortgage pavement bright 'n early, get just a little farther down the path. Then it will be out of our hands for a while, and we are going to grab those babies and love on them like they're heading off to college tomorrow. We're going to just soak up the giggles and snuggles, and even take the boundary testing with a grain of salt and a teaspoon of sugar (or perhaps an alcoholic-based tincture, but hey, it's a teaspoon). We are going to spend the day reminding ourselves why we're even attempting this project.
Kiss those babies!
Dy
Thursday, July 28
Coming Clean for Donna's Sake
Ok, so Donna doesn't feel bad, I'll come clean about this, too.
We're not married. Not according to the State of New Mexico, anyway. Not according to the First Church of the Nazarene, either (I called today - the pastor didn't even record it in the church's log - thanks, Buddy!). Also checked with PAX, and they didn't make copies, so although they saw the certificate, they cannot verify that they saw it.
Funny, isn't it. For the record, I will think horrible thoughts on the first person to ask what else can happen! So just - don't say it! I don't want to know what else could happen. Just do not want to know. *shhhhhh*
Um, on the upside, we do have photographs from both the wedding and the reception. Some are a little compromising, but that's fine. Allow me to apologize to all of the groomsmen in advance: sorry, guys. And, if we absolutely have to, we can lock the kids on the patio with water and beef jerkey to keep them out of the way while we open every. single. box. in storage to find our marriage certificate.*
We still feel married. That counts, doesn't it?
On the home front, the sellers have countered, but we can't reply until we hear back. Mtg. Guy 1 said at ten this morning that he'd know for sure "in fifteen minutes". It's 12:40 now... and he's stopped answering his phone. That's probably not a good sign.
I'm now offering a side of beef from our first cow to any mortgage lender who can get this through! Any takers? Any mortgage lenders out there reading inane blogs on their lunch hour? Hey, stranger things have happened!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
*of course I'm joking!*
We're not married. Not according to the State of New Mexico, anyway. Not according to the First Church of the Nazarene, either (I called today - the pastor didn't even record it in the church's log - thanks, Buddy!). Also checked with PAX, and they didn't make copies, so although they saw the certificate, they cannot verify that they saw it.
Funny, isn't it. For the record, I will think horrible thoughts on the first person to ask what else can happen! So just - don't say it! I don't want to know what else could happen. Just do not want to know. *shhhhhh*
Um, on the upside, we do have photographs from both the wedding and the reception. Some are a little compromising, but that's fine. Allow me to apologize to all of the groomsmen in advance: sorry, guys. And, if we absolutely have to, we can lock the kids on the patio with water and beef jerkey to keep them out of the way while we open every. single. box. in storage to find our marriage certificate.*
We still feel married. That counts, doesn't it?
On the home front, the sellers have countered, but we can't reply until we hear back. Mtg. Guy 1 said at ten this morning that he'd know for sure "in fifteen minutes". It's 12:40 now... and he's stopped answering his phone. That's probably not a good sign.
I'm now offering a side of beef from our first cow to any mortgage lender who can get this through! Any takers? Any mortgage lenders out there reading inane blogs on their lunch hour? Hey, stranger things have happened!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
*of course I'm joking!*
The longest 24 hours so far
Well, as of last night at nine-thirty, the heirs still had not given the realtor an answer. She called us just to let us know she wasn't ignoring us. She'd spoken to a wife at four thirty who said they would call her after six. When she called us that evening, she'd also left two later messages with them, since they had 24 hours to reply.
However, we aren't planning to have a fit because we would sure like to find out what's going on with the financing issues. So, in its weird way, I suppose this is a good thing. This is what we might call, "Mixed blessings..." you know, in a sick, self-defeating sort of way...
But boy, this has been a long36 24 hours!
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
However, we aren't planning to have a fit because we would sure like to find out what's going on with the financing issues. So, in its weird way, I suppose this is a good thing. This is what we might call, "Mixed blessings..." you know, in a sick, self-defeating sort of way...
But boy, this has been a long
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Wednesday, July 27
Why not? (House stuff)
Well, remember that I wrote yesterday that we were approved for a loan on the Forever Home? Yeah. Strike that. I mean, we're still approved. We're good-to-go. But not on that property. Or, rather, not that much property. They won't do a mortgage at X-amount for the full acreage, but might do it for the same money on a third of the acreage... I'm not sure where the hold up is or what is to be done about it. To be honest, I don't see the logic in this process and neither do any of the loan officers I've spoken with today.
My morning began with this phone call:
Mtg. Guy 2: Hi, Mrs. E. I need to get more information from you about this property. I don't know why, but it seems we can't do 84 acres. We can do 30, if the owners will gift you the remaining acreage...
Me: What?
Mtg. Guy 2: Well, it seems we just can't do a mortgage for a house with that much land on it.
Me: Not even for a farm loan?
Mtg. Guy 2: No. It's too much land. I really don't know what the problem is.
Me: Well, that's ok. I appreciate your call, but Mtg. Guy 1 at Company A said we can do it, so we'll go with them.
Mtg. Guy 2: Um, that's who told me we can't.
Me: Guy 1?!?
Mtg. Guy 2: No, some other guy, from the Birmingham office of Company A. He's in charge of what we can do, and he's the one who said that 30 acres is the best we can do on this.
Me: Um... let me call Mtg. Guy 1 and see if he knows anything about this. I'll get back with you.
The next five hours are a series of phone calls to Company A, Companies C through Q, realtor, Jess, the pastor, and Zorak. There was a half hour hyperventilation break in there somewhere.
I finally tracked Mtg. Guy 1 down somewhere in Tennessee, on his cell phone. He's baffled. He has no clue why they wouldn't do it, either. They didn't tell him it can't be done when he submitted it yesterday.
As of four thirty, Mtg. Guy 1 was going to make some phone calls and get back with me. (Still waiting on that, but the business day is over.) Mtg. Guy 2 is waiting to hear back from me what happens with this. Mtg. Guy 3 has three messages on his voice mail. Mtg. Guy 4 has two messages.
Meanwhile, the realtor is supposed to call us tonight with the reply from the heirs about our offer. WEEEEEEEE!!!
As a business decision, this is a no-brainer. Consider the following:
* The property appraises at approximately 12% over the asking loan value. So, there's equity right off the bat, just for carrying the note.
* There's no money in the loan for capital improvements; all improvements are to be paid by the buyer, cash out of our pocket (which has been verified to actually exist). Again, capital improvements with no investment by the bank. Another bonus.
* In three months, that house will appraise at approximately 2/3 more than its current value. (We believe we can double the value, but we can actually guarantee 2/3 increase from the work we will put into it.)
* our credit rating is strong
* Zorak's income more than qualifies to cover the payments. (And on a morbid note, if he dies, he's insured.)
* This is a long-term investment by people who have a 20 year plan; people who have already achieved a seven-year plan in six years. We aren't talking slackers, here.
This is a win-win business deal for the bank. So where is the bank that will take this money-maker and run with it? Anyone? Anyone?
Ugh. So I guess my job now is to find The Guy Who Makes These Decisions and talk with him. In person.
Kiss those babies, and pass the Rescue Remedy.
Dy
My morning began with this phone call:
Mtg. Guy 2: Hi, Mrs. E. I need to get more information from you about this property. I don't know why, but it seems we can't do 84 acres. We can do 30, if the owners will gift you the remaining acreage...
Me: What?
Mtg. Guy 2: Well, it seems we just can't do a mortgage for a house with that much land on it.
Me: Not even for a farm loan?
Mtg. Guy 2: No. It's too much land. I really don't know what the problem is.
Me: Well, that's ok. I appreciate your call, but Mtg. Guy 1 at Company A said we can do it, so we'll go with them.
Mtg. Guy 2: Um, that's who told me we can't.
Me: Guy 1?!?
Mtg. Guy 2: No, some other guy, from the Birmingham office of Company A. He's in charge of what we can do, and he's the one who said that 30 acres is the best we can do on this.
Me: Um... let me call Mtg. Guy 1 and see if he knows anything about this. I'll get back with you.
The next five hours are a series of phone calls to Company A, Companies C through Q, realtor, Jess, the pastor, and Zorak. There was a half hour hyperventilation break in there somewhere.
I finally tracked Mtg. Guy 1 down somewhere in Tennessee, on his cell phone. He's baffled. He has no clue why they wouldn't do it, either. They didn't tell him it can't be done when he submitted it yesterday.
As of four thirty, Mtg. Guy 1 was going to make some phone calls and get back with me. (Still waiting on that, but the business day is over.) Mtg. Guy 2 is waiting to hear back from me what happens with this. Mtg. Guy 3 has three messages on his voice mail. Mtg. Guy 4 has two messages.
Meanwhile, the realtor is supposed to call us tonight with the reply from the heirs about our offer. WEEEEEEEE!!!
As a business decision, this is a no-brainer. Consider the following:
* The property appraises at approximately 12% over the asking loan value. So, there's equity right off the bat, just for carrying the note.
* There's no money in the loan for capital improvements; all improvements are to be paid by the buyer, cash out of our pocket (which has been verified to actually exist). Again, capital improvements with no investment by the bank. Another bonus.
* In three months, that house will appraise at approximately 2/3 more than its current value. (We believe we can double the value, but we can actually guarantee 2/3 increase from the work we will put into it.)
* our credit rating is strong
* Zorak's income more than qualifies to cover the payments. (And on a morbid note, if he dies, he's insured.)
* This is a long-term investment by people who have a 20 year plan; people who have already achieved a seven-year plan in six years. We aren't talking slackers, here.
This is a win-win business deal for the bank. So where is the bank that will take this money-maker and run with it? Anyone? Anyone?
Ugh. So I guess my job now is to find The Guy Who Makes These Decisions and talk with him. In person.
Kiss those babies, and pass the Rescue Remedy.
Dy
Tuesday, July 26
Overdue House Hunting Yarn
Have a seat, kids, and let me tell you the tale of the House Hunt of '05. It's a tale of big adjustments, bad timing, and strange characters. I'll leave it up to you to decide what's what...
Oh, nevermind. I'll just cut to the chase. Things have been cruising along and progress has been made, but truthfully, it's been at a painfully uninteresting pace. Nothing like blog entry after blog entry along the lines of,
Or, increasingly as of late, they'd look like this:
Mostly, other than tripling the mileage on our vehicle while we stalk the county roads, it's been a lot of calling, emailing, and waiting. "Did you find the missing well yet?" That's been a common theme. And then there's the ever popular, "So are you actually going to send us a plat? Would you like us to just come get it? We can come get it. Honest."
Through all of this, though, one property has been "the one". Zorak knew it, and I knew it, but neither of us was willing to admit it just yet. Zorak, because it's a mighty big leap that will leave us with a very small parachute. He wanted to be certain he was thinking properly and not just trying to smush us all into some way for him to live out his post-apocalyptic fantasies. Me, because... because this property scares the living snot out of me. It's the property with the "not just no, but he-- no" house on it. You remember, the one that would be condemned in most third world countries as unfit for habitation? That one.
But, over the weekend, upon viewing the last six properties on the market short of moving into town, we had our epiphany. This is probably the one. It's the best bet for what we want to do. It has no chance of being annexed into any city in the next fifty years. It is less than an hour's drive for Zorak, and it already has fencing. Housing? We don' need no stinkin' housing! We got a reciprocating saw and plumber's tape, man.
We've finagled and figured (and kinda swore a little, here and there) and came to the conclusion that we could live in the apartment for a month while we rehabilitated the house to make it safe enough to put a family in. We aren't shooting for pretty yet, just safe. It's gonna be hot, and it's gonna be scary, but it can be done. And we decided we're the ones juststupid enough er, equipped to do it.
So today we finalized the loan approval and put in an offer. It was a good offer. They'd have jumped on it a month ago. Unfortunately, one of the heirs just had the property reappraised and it came in about 27K over the list price. (The DEA really needs to check up on that appraiser...) One of the heirs has now forgotten that this property has sat, idle, for a year and a half; that the house needs to be set on fire or filmed for a nature documentary on the ecosystem of insects, fungi, and wild dogs; that everyone who is involved with maintaining the property is on disability for "back problems" and nobody's taking care of it... all that heir sees now is dollar signs and he wants to raise the list price. One of the others wants to take the offer and be done with it. The third is willing to take the offer, but is being swayed by the entrepreneur of the bunch to counter. They've got until tomorrow afternoon to decide how they'll respond.
This may be the longest 24 hours of our lives. Hopefully, the real adventure will begin soon! I'll let ya know what happens.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
Oh, nevermind. I'll just cut to the chase. Things have been cruising along and progress has been made, but truthfully, it's been at a painfully uninteresting pace. Nothing like blog entry after blog entry along the lines of,
"Saw eighteen properties tonight. Five with the headlights on high-beam, and the folks at Game and Fish may be getting suspicious. Down payment or bond money? Only time will tell. Boys slept in the car. Smidge goes longer between diaper changes on these excursions than any child we've ever seen, yet his skin is quite healthy. It must be the slime from sweat and oil that coats us daily. Still nothing that screams, 'Buy Me!'. Or at least not to both of us at the same time. Will try again Friday."
Or, increasingly as of late, they'd look like this:
Kill me now. Dear God, please just make it end.
Mostly, other than tripling the mileage on our vehicle while we stalk the county roads, it's been a lot of calling, emailing, and waiting. "Did you find the missing well yet?" That's been a common theme. And then there's the ever popular, "So are you actually going to send us a plat? Would you like us to just come get it? We can come get it. Honest."
Through all of this, though, one property has been "the one". Zorak knew it, and I knew it, but neither of us was willing to admit it just yet. Zorak, because it's a mighty big leap that will leave us with a very small parachute. He wanted to be certain he was thinking properly and not just trying to smush us all into some way for him to live out his post-apocalyptic fantasies. Me, because... because this property scares the living snot out of me. It's the property with the "not just no, but he-- no" house on it. You remember, the one that would be condemned in most third world countries as unfit for habitation? That one.
But, over the weekend, upon viewing the last six properties on the market short of moving into town, we had our epiphany. This is probably the one. It's the best bet for what we want to do. It has no chance of being annexed into any city in the next fifty years. It is less than an hour's drive for Zorak, and it already has fencing. Housing? We don' need no stinkin' housing! We got a reciprocating saw and plumber's tape, man.
We've finagled and figured (and kinda swore a little, here and there) and came to the conclusion that we could live in the apartment for a month while we rehabilitated the house to make it safe enough to put a family in. We aren't shooting for pretty yet, just safe. It's gonna be hot, and it's gonna be scary, but it can be done. And we decided we're the ones just
So today we finalized the loan approval and put in an offer. It was a good offer. They'd have jumped on it a month ago. Unfortunately, one of the heirs just had the property reappraised and it came in about 27K over the list price. (The DEA really needs to check up on that appraiser...) One of the heirs has now forgotten that this property has sat, idle, for a year and a half; that the house needs to be set on fire or filmed for a nature documentary on the ecosystem of insects, fungi, and wild dogs; that everyone who is involved with maintaining the property is on disability for "back problems" and nobody's taking care of it... all that heir sees now is dollar signs and he wants to raise the list price. One of the others wants to take the offer and be done with it. The third is willing to take the offer, but is being swayed by the entrepreneur of the bunch to counter. They've got until tomorrow afternoon to decide how they'll respond.
This may be the longest 24 hours of our lives. Hopefully, the real adventure will begin soon! I'll let ya know what happens.
Kiss those babies!
~Dy
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