Realtor Rant: The Alabama Chapters

Oh, for the love of all things chocolate! What is wrong with these people? Do you have to submit to - and fail - some kind of psychological exam to get your realtor's license? OK, I know that's not true because we've had friends and family who had their real estate licenses and they were perfectly functional and downright pleasant. No, it's something about the magnetic field Zorak and I emit that draws the wonky ones to us, like bugs to a zapper.

So, allow me to fill you in a bit. We came to Alabama. We asked around. We received glowing recommendations on this one realtor. Zorak and I both left his office with her name from three different folks. They LOVED HER! We called her and spoke about our plans. We gave her our parameters: over twenty acres, under $X amount, we plan to do organic agriculture on the place, and we do not like new construction at all - it's not a good thing for us. She clicked, she got it. She was in the game, maaaannn! She even showed us one property that I'd have probably bought on the spot (it was so mountainous and lovely!), but which she pointed out wasn't quite what we wanted unless we planned to raise lopsided cattle with tremendous balancing skills. But it fit all the other criteria, and we really thought we had a winner. We headed back over the wall with great anticipation over the place she would help us find.

She called and said, "I have the place you are going to buy. It is perfect!" This was what I call "the first" - it was the first indication that we'd somehow failed to communicate our desires to this woman. It had less acreage than we wanted. It cost more than the limit we'd set. And the house was built in 2004. I gently explained the, erm, "drawbacks" to this property and how it really isn't what we want - at all. We thought she'd been recalibrated. Evidently you cannot undo a lobotomy.

So she emailed me a listing: even smaller than the first (so we're down to half the acreage)! Even newer than the first (have to work hard to do that)! And about $60 grand more expensive than the first (so now we're at double our original ceiling)!

No, no, nooooo. (And, speaking very slowly, I spelled it out.) How about this one? You know, with this MLS number, in this county, on this road. Can we see this one? It took her fifteen minutes to find the property, even with that information and a computer, but she finally found it and agreed to show us.

Sunday afternoon she picked us up in her shiny 2wd Yukon and drove us an hour north of here to look at a property. 85 acres of land, crappy old house, and in our price range. Perfect! We went with the full intention of being sold on the place. We called her the day before to request she bring a plat and a topo map and to make sure we had access into the house so we could see what condition it's in. That all seems so eerily straightforward, doesn't it? You'd think...

No. There's no lockbox on the house and it's in the middle of nowhere in Alabama, so naturally it was unlocked. But the tenant wasn't home, so we couldn't go in. Well, I'd have gone in, since she swore they knew we'd be there to see the place, but she wouldn't let me in.

Ok, let's look at the property. Oh. You have no topo map? You have no plat? You don't know where the property lines are? Well, here's a pond by the house. Is this part of the property? You don't know... huh. Ok. Barn? No. Pasture? No. Is there anything at all about this place you can tell us?

"YES! There's a back entrance to the property!" So we all hop into the shiny 2wd Yukon (I want you to remember this part) and drive down the road "a ways" (which is a legal definition in the really cool counties to live in!), make a turn and... she doesn't know which gate is the one to the property. And with no plat, no map, and no idea what she's doing... we weren't going to find it, either. We did see a neglected field with tracks running through it. The land was flat pasture. The land was dry, flat pasture. But she can't go down that road, because, "Oh, this is only a two wheel-drive." Good heck, woman! I'd take a Yugo down that road! No no. Let's go home. Would you like to make an offer on that place this afternoon or later this week?

Are. You. Kidding. Me. (No, I'm not joking. She honestly started in with the high-pressure sales pitch. On a property we haven't technically seen. At all. Riiiiight. Sign us up!)

Fast forward to today. Zorak gets off work, we load up in the Suburban (because I had insisted that we drive ourselves, you know, in our 4-wheel-drive vehicle) to go look at the property with the listing agent. Our realtor bailed on us this afternoon, claiming she had "fires to put out". OK, that's fine. The last time we went to walk the property she'd showed up in heels and capri pants. Zorak, the boys and I had jeans and boots, but she made a point of telling me, "And this time, you really need to dress appropriately for getting out and walking around." So, truthfully, I'm not terribly bummed that she isn't going to be there today.

We arrive. We get out there and drive the property. We climb out and walk the property. This lady seems to be a bit more on the ball (but they all seem that way at first, so we're leery). She showed us the barn, the ponds, and... she couldn't show us the house. Oh no. Our agent had told her specifically that we have no interest in the house and not to show it to us. She thought that was a little odd, and double checked, but claims "our" realtor was insistent. So. Um, yeah. We didn't get to see the house again. Like my going from door to door, trying each of them last time wasn't an indicator that I'd like to get in there? As if my nose prints on the grime of each and every window didn't tip her off? What the...??? The listing agent laughed and said, "Well, yeah, I thought it was weird, too, but she was so adamant about it I let it drop."

*sigh*

We need a new realtor. No, what we really need is a cattle prod and a bottle of muscle relaxants. But since that would probably not serve us well when the police confiscated the contents of the Suburban, I am going to have to just get another bottle of Rescue Remedy (I've sucked the last one dry, licking the dropper like a starving kitten) and find something funny in all this.

I wish we knew the secret code of Realtorese that would land us somebody who could help us. It really chaps my hide to think somebody is going to make more off the sale of whatever we buy than Zorak makes in a month - for doing pretty much nothing but irritate me and make me question my sanity. I have sisters who would do that for f-r-e-e, darnit.

There's more, but this is too long already. Now that you're mostly caught up, future Realtor Rants (Alabama Chapters) will be significantly shorter. I'll end tonight with a song, and apologies to Waylon and Willie...

Mamas, don't let yer babies grow up to be realtors.
Realtors ain't easy to like and they're harder to know.
They'd rather string you along to get that place sold,
New berber carpet and fresh painted kitchens
Add to that commission each day.
If you don't like this one, and you won't just buy it,
They'd rather you just go away.

Chorus:
Mamas don't let yer babies grow up to be realtors.
Don't let 'em quote prices and push all them features,
Let 'em be ruthless old lawyers and such.
Mamas don't let yer babies grow up to be realtors.
They're never at home and they're always alone.
Even with interest rates low....

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Good morning, all!

Well, it's Wednesday. I can't believe our week is half-over. And I have no idea what we'll do for the weekend. The boys and I cleaned the Suburban yesterday. We worked for two hours to get all the peripherals of moving removed from inside. Then we vacuumed. It was well worth it! Funny how something so simple can make such a big difference.

The boys and I are heading out this morning to explore a bit, hit the market (I feel like we're hitting the market a little too often, but then I remember we're restocking an entire home with food... and three boys eat a lot of food. Ahh, yes, that's better.) Then we'll go hiking or to the park.

I cannot tell you how absolutely gorgeous the weather has been this week! I may wait until after September, but I just might get a weather pixie. (Gotta wait because the humidity information is something I just don't need to be reminded of every time I sit down at the computer.) At any rate, I'd planned to take the boys swimming this week, but it simply hasn't been hot enough to warm the pools. Yes, a heated pool is a waste of energy, but it's oh-so-nice!

I think we're meeting the Realtor this afternoon at the property we've been looking at. Supposedly, she's now found someone who knows where the property boundaries are and has the legal survey on hand to prove it. (It's 84 acres. No, it's 95. I don't think that pond next to the house geso with the house. I have no idea where the eastern boundary ends...) Yeah, that'd be nice, considering the Realtor is already pushing us to put in an offer on the property (b/c, don't ya know, "someone else is also looking at the property" - isn't there always someone else looking at property in real estate? *groan*). Um, well, you see, we would like to know what we're buying, specifically, before we agree to a 30-year serfdom on the place.

The Mistress has been earning her keep, but now she's developed a hole in her diaphragm. We have a few sets of those on order. Zorak rebuilt the carburetor last night in the kitchen so he could get to work this morning. That's when he found the offending parts. Spiffy new o-rings and all manner of non-gooky new parts later and she started up this morning, but he thinks the diaphragms may be what's causing her to idle high when she gets warm. I found last night I didn't resent her need for attention nearly as much as before. Perhaps that's because the ratio of effort:results has shifted since we've been here? At any rate, Zorak was very happily getting into the Zen of his Motorcycle Maintenance. And I enjoyed watching him work. That's a rhythm I've missed terribly over the last year and a half. It's one we hope to recapture and this time, keep.

Lessons are going well, and we're enjoying the newfound pace and feel of that, as well. Everything, actually, just feels very "right". It's not perfect, but it's headed that way. Or rather, it's headed toward the point we'd like to reach - not perfection, but contentment - contentment in it's happiest form. It feels good to be headed that way.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

The Learning Curve

For me, it's huge. I have just finished reading Eleanor of Aquitaine by Alison Weir, which I've been reading in tandem with The Medieval Machine - The Industrial Revolution of the Middle Ages (hey Sarah, has Rainer read that one? Thoughts?)

I have to say right off the bat that I'm not enthralled with the Middle Ages. I don't have a "thing" for the chivalric code or knights or ladies and castles. I have no desire to be swept back in time to an era where I could be abducted, violated, tossed aside, and then held accountable for no longer retaining my purity. (The more I read, the more I'm thinkin' "Well, no WONDER so many women were barren by the time they hit 25! GOSH!") I enjoy, appreciate, and truly value the rights, priviledges, and freedoms bestowed upon me as a woman in the 21st Century. Ew.

However, that said, reading these two books together was fascinating. It was nice to get a glimpse into that period which looked deeper than the stereotypes of the age. I enjoyed reading in detail the activities of the people and the economic and industrial development of the region in context with the political climate and the social systems in place at that time. The experience was far more fascinating than I'd given the Middle Ages credit for, I'll tell you that.

So this got me thinking, and I have some truly exciting ideas stuck in my head and completely incapable of making it out in one piece just before midnight. Sorry. But anyway, if you get the niggling to try something like this (combining two facets of history in a tandem reading session), please share with us what you read and what you thought! I think a reading list along these lines has the potential to make one phenomenal logic or rhetoric stage history/economics/sociology study!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Cake and Coffee

Hi guys. The cyber cake was much appreciated. Thanks, from clear across the internet.

Today we worked on attaining "normalcy" once more. The boys worked on their math skills, because girls only like guys with skills**.

We read the story of the Olmecs Heads and looked up pictures of them online. 20 tons of something that actually exists in one chunk is mighty impressive when you are six and four! As always, thank you, Susan Wise Bauer!

Latin today was a preposition review and intro to pronouns. We did the lessons, then ran about doing situational things (Look! I'm under the table! Hee hee! I'm beside the couch. Smidge is under the shelves!)

And now, for a PSA:
Take time today to discuss with your children the dangers of Pronoun Abuse. It's a serious malady, and the cause of many confusing conversations. Scientists speculate that boats have run aground and Kingdoms have fallen due to Pronoun Abuse. Pronoun Abuse is defined as,

"the act of omitting from speech all nouns to which a pronoun may refer, thus rendering the entire task of identifying 'who, what, where' solely on the shoulders of the pronoun itself".

Those poor pronouns simply cannot do their job as well as the extra work of the nouns themselves. The pronouns are small and inadequately prepared. It's too much for them, and suddenly, the whole sentence structure breaks under the strain. Conversations go awry. Entendres are lost forever. Directions are rendered useless.

On a personal note, the boys are at risk for developing this problem, as their father is a notorious abuser of pronouns. I love him, and almost always, sort of, mostly understand him. But this isn't about us. It's about the future. While studies have not ascertained with certainty whether Pronoun Abuse is hereditary, we do feel early intervention is the only hope. Speak to your children about pronoun abuse. Do it early. Do it often. God bless.
:: End PSA ::

Oh, and we had a birth here! I need some information on this, because it came as a bit of a surprise - mostly to James, in whose hand the birth occurred. We saw an earthworm flying across the dirt yesterday. Now, when I say "flying", I don't mean "fast for a worm," I mean, "this thing was hauling". The boys, naturally, touched it, and the thing turned on them, flinging and thrashing. It was incredibly strange. I have never, in my life, seen an aggressive earthworm. Finally, James "tamed" it. (Scared it into submission, pick your phrase.) And the boys enjoyed examining it, trying to feed it, and drawing pictures of it. Suddenly, James screamed:

James: MOM! The worm *speaking far to fast for me to understand this part, mumble, mumble* ...IN MY HAND!!!
Me: It what?
James: The worm just gave birth in my hand!
Me: No it didn't honey. I don't know how worms give birth, but...
James: Seriously, Mom. LOOK! (John is hopping around us, singing Happy Birthday)

I looked and, sure enough, there was the original worm, and a very, very tiny second worm. OK. That's just weird. James described what happened as follows:

The worm just started getting bigger and thicker and then suddenly, that little one just popped right out of it. Right there, in my hand!

John stopped singing long enough to confirm that yes, that's how it happened.
I can't find any information on "live" worm births. Google results (for the google-impaired) returned only photos of births from little cocoons or worm-pods, but no from-the-worm births. Anybody ever seen this before? I felt bad for doubting his sincerity, but did get to share the Dorky Parental Response Award when the boys ran inside to tell Zorak and Zorak's knee-jerk reaction was, "Oh Wow! That is disgusting!" Heh, heh.

So, in all, another good day. It was gorgeous outside, but trying to get John outside to play was like trying to get someone to invite Carrie to the prom just one more time, ya know. I don't know what's up with that.

Here's to a lovely week for everyone!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

** (*sigh* I really did not like that movie, but the lines have infiltrated my home and we can't make them stop!)

This is the wall that Mommy hit...

With apologies to... whomever.

This is the wall that Mommy hit.

This is the mess that covered the dress
in front of the wall that Mommy hit.

This is the meal, left out, not sealed
approaching the wall that Mommy hit.

This is the heat that spoiled the meat
in the car near the wall that Mommy hit.

This is the child who's gone slightly wild
atop the wall that Mommy hit.

These are the miles sans markers and stiles
which pass the wall that Mommy hit.

These are the sites for chiggers and mites
around the wall that Mommy hit.

This is the clock, thrown like a rock,
too early to see the wall that Mommy hit.

This is the day she ran away
but there...

there was the wall that Mommy hit.

****

Doing great, but covered insane distances of land with small children, bad maps, Titan-inspired rain storms, missing snack containers, and a pinched sciatic nerve. Zorak is settling in at work, and it is good. The boys are making their niches, and it is good. Really, it is all good, it's just exhausting. And I?

I am dying for coffee, cake, and conversation with another adult. Wouldn't that be loverly? I mean, first I'll have to back up and dust myself off a bit. These walls can make quite a mess when you're not paying attention and smack right into them, but it would be so nice.

Kiss those babies! (And then somebody put on a pot of coffee and call me!)
~Dy

Friday Night Fundown!

Today went quickly. James is surprisingly healthy and on-the-go. I'm so thankful for that. Not a word of complaint out of him today, and this evening he wrestled with Zorak. I'm thinkin' I really like the arnica cream/dermoplast combo!

We took the day off to build forts in the living room, run amok like small tribal cheiftains, read like librarians gone mad, and just enjoy each other. It was a great day with the kids.

Tomorrow we're heading out to explore. Sunday we'll check out the new church and then go peek at a property that shows some promise. Funny how the mention of a property that's "for-sale-by-owner" will yank a wayward realtor back into line rather quickly. Here's hoping!

It's good, guys. It's really good. Zorak is a happy dragon-slaying mantis. Critters one, two and three are happy and active. I am very thankful for all of it, including air conditioning. Especially air conditioning. It's hard to believe we've just been here a week.

Anyhow, tonight Zorak and I are going to kick back with a movie and some peace and quiet, reflect on the new digs, and pass out before the movie is over.

As always, kiss those babies!
Dy

Specto bike wreck, art and family. Wee!

Look! Blogging before midnight! What an odd sensation...

Latin was great today. The boys made their first "sentence": Specto septem lunae. Ok, so we don't technically have seven moons to look at. But it's a J-Brothers Original, and they took the initiative. Oh, and Smidge joined in with us today, uttering "dom-ae, nos" every once in a while. Zorak may never admit in public that he knows me if this child speaks Latin before he speaks English...

OK. The skinny on the Art Museum is simple: we are in love. The displays are great, there is plenty of room to back up, walk forward, back up again. They have a wonderful setting for the Audubon birds, an interactive selection of books to accompany William Joyce's art, and docents to die for. So there goes one membership slot!

The boys reactions were funny. James put his hands on his hips, looked around the Audubon gallery, and said, "So, these are the ones he didn't destroy, huh?" We read a biography of James John Audubon earlier in the year and evidenly James was impressed (either positively, or he was dismayed, either way it made an impression) that for many years, Audubon would save his sketches for an entire year and then, deeming them unfit to be seen, he would burn each and every one at the end of that year.

John fell in love with the modern art display, particularly the sculptures. Smidge even handled it well, considering... well, just considering. He's one and can't touch anything. How fun can that be? Plus, I was a bit high-strung today in general, which probably didn't help.

We came home for lunch and our first major bike wreck. So much for my master plan to enjoy giving them more space and freedom. Now I plan to ensconce them in bubble wrap and keep them chilled for the next 20 or 30 years. Oh, alright, not really. But it is tempting. We are way in the back of the complex, and there is a parking nook between two buildings. We have three windows that open directly into the nook, and at its most packed there are three cars parked in it, one of which is ours. So when the boys asked if they could ride on the black (meaning the asphalt) while I put Smidge down for his nap, I wrangled and wrestled with my inner control freak and finally decided that by opening ALL the windows so I can hear what's going on, giving both boys whistles to blow if they need help, reminding them that "no adult will ever need the help of a child when Mommy isn't right there", making them recite the safety rules, the behavior rules, and the Code of Hammurabi, it would be ok.

I peeked in on them and they were fine. I heard no fighting, no cars, and no tears. Twenty minutes after they went out, James came in through the patio door. He was slathered in blood. I'm talking B-rate movie special effects quantity of blood. His chin looked like it was off-center by about half an inch (turned out to be swelling and his chin is still where God intended it to be). He said to me, very calmly, "Mom, I lost my balance. And, um, I think I'm bleeding pretty bad." I honestly do not know how he managed to do this much damage to his body by simply tipping over on his bike. It's a short bike! He has scrapes on the right side of his face, his chin is torn up something fierce, both forearms, a quarter-sized gouge out of his right thigh, gashes on the inside of his left ankle, and when I helped him switch out his shirt for a fresh one, his upper body looks like that of a prize fighter! Good heck, child! Thankfully, nothing is broken or chipped or gaping. It's mostly superficial, although that chin is gonna hurt for a while. *shudder*

He has been a trooper about the whole thing, and even joked with Zorak that he lost his balance but thinks he can find it again. I'm glad he's getting back on that horse - he's far more daring and self-confident than I was at his age, I can tell you that. Zorak, of coure, knew just how to handle it when he got home, and showed James all the cool scars he has from bike wrecks he had as a little boy. It helps to know Dad survived childhood, too.

I called churches this morning and found one we will try on Sunday. The secretary is wonderfully friendly, although her math is a bit off. She said they have about 100 members, probably 50 families in all. And tons of children. Huh. That's weird. Maybe the aren't counting the children? She did say they have only two teens in their "youth group" right now, but have a large brood of children in the boys' ages. At any rate, aside from the quantitative confusion, the qualitative results of the initial visit were encouraging. I'll let you know how it goes.

And that, my friends, is about all the news I can handle today. I'm going to bed.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Hi

I am so not filled with clever titles today. It happens.

So I goofed, big time. Zorak took the Suburban this morning since he had a meeting and... well, I don't know why that necessitated the Suburban, but it did, and that's ok. We were going to the Huntsville Museum of Art today, and he was going to bring us the Suburban after the meeting so we could go. Meeting was at eight. Around noon, I gave him a jingle on his cell phone, thinking he'd gone to lunch with his boss or something and had forgotten. He whispered, "No. It's still going on." Oh! I am SO so so sooo sorry, honey. I felt like such a nerd for interrupting his meeting. Well, come to find out it wasn't a normal meeting kind of meeting, it was an all-day affair. It still wasn't over at five, but he gave up and came home anyway. He doesn't really know what the meeting was about, either. I'm guessing his day was worse than ours, even with the postponed museum trip.

Twenty guesses what we're doing tomorrow. *grin*

John has begun planning his birthday party. He remembers James' fifth birthday party (but doesn't remember his own fourth birthday, which was a year later, go figure) and wants it to be good. Tonight he filled me in on some of the details. The cake should say, "To: John", and the candle needs to be the numeral five, not five individual candles. He would really like ballons, too. I can't believe he's so excited to turn five. This is the first year. Ever. Normally there are tears and protests and pleas not to make him change his age. Not this year, though. He is ready to be FIVE.

Smidge has become quite vocal this week. He roams about talking animatedly to anyone, even himself. He's actually trying to communicate verbally, which is handy, to be honest. It's still mostly elvish, but I think he may tackle English before summer's out.

James has eased up on John (hallelujah!) and is enjoying life quite a bit more now. He's taking on more along the lines of problem-solving and creative adjustment, as well. For all the worry I expend on that child, thinking we ruined him in our parenthood learning curve, when I watch him as he goes about his days I am assured that he's going to be just fine.

Both the older boys have taken to their sketch pads with a passion. They've been out daily, drawing tree bark, flowers, grass, weeds and bugs. I have no idea what John draws. It's still wholly indecipherable and we spend a lot of time having the, "Oh, this is lovely! Tell me all about it!" discussions. But when I consider this is the child who did not color, did not so much as doodle - would not use a crayon or draw w/ a marker - until he was nearly four, I'm really quite happy with his progress. At this point, his enthusiasm will more than make up for his lack of experience. He loves doing it now, and that's what we're after. James is learning the arts of observation and recreation. He's getting the hang of it, and I can usually figure out what he's drawn. Today he was thrilled to discover he can really do this well (always an exciting thing for him). I think I'll throw the sketch pads into the bag before we leave tomorrow, just in case the muse strikes.

Oh, I also put my foot in my mouth today. Mid-morning, I ushered everyone outside to play. Two and a half minutes later, John headed inside. He didn't want to be outside. It's hot. I laughed and reminded him, while herding him back out the screen door, that summer is coming and it's only going to get hotter, so we'd better acclimate to it now. So he turned to me and said, "I want you to come outside and play with me." WHAT? Are you kidding? It's hot out there! *awkward silence* Shall we read a story and have a snack, kids?

That's about it. No news from the Realtor on the one property we asked to see. Hmmm, do you see a Rant gathering on the horizon? If I thought changing realtors would help, I would, but I'm not feeling optimistic about that. It may be a very good thing that the apartment is so nicely appointed...

Anyhow, kiss those babies!
~Dy

Evil Amy, Personal Space, and Math

Alright, Amy, it's not funny anymore! You just may get more of the Realtor Rants you so enjoyed from before. Our realtor, it seems, in spite of my fairly clear-cut (and, dare I say, articulate?) email explaining the mojo/ghost/glamor bath thing (I didn't mention your bizarre bathroom experience, though), has seen fit to send me a link today with the caption, "Take a look at this!" So. I looked. And I growled and said a few things I seriously hope the boys don't repeat. Less than half the acreage we told her was our "minimum", for TWICE the amount of money we set as the ceiling!! Wow, is somebody bad in math or what?

Speaking of math, the boys are having a great time diving into lessons, but the math lessons in particular are just plain wonderful. John's skip counting and addition skills are taking off. James danced gleefully around the table today because I "let" him do an extra page of math. Ah. May it always be this easy, right? Don't covet, our bad days will come. It's cyclical, but I've learned to really roll around in the good parts like a dog let loose in a field.

And now, for a note on our personal space. There isn't any, you see, and I'm starting to feel the effects of it. This problem is due to no fault of my great children or of my wonderful Zorak. It's just that, wherever you turn, there's someone. Right there. In your face (or, in Smidge's case, in your kneecaps). I have decided to start walking (I don't run unless I'm followed by malicious creatures with teeth) in the mornings, but that will entail getting to bed before the morning to begin with. So as you can see, we do have some adjustment left to make. It's all good, though, and will come together soon.

Oh, and a little geography tidbit for ya: I cannot gauge altitude. When asked to take a stab at the elevation of Huntsville, I thought, I speculated, and I came up with the reasonable (or so I thought) guess of 3500 feet. *snort* WRONG! 600 feet. I forget that things aren't as tall this side of Texas. When you live ON the ocean, it's pretty easy to guess the elevation of your backyard (ours was something like three feet below sea level). But this totally blew me away. It's so pretty and seems so textured with mountains and valleys. Huh. You can do a lot with just a thousand feet or so of leeway!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy