Condo Livin' is for the Birds

....Or so I thought.

So, we short sold that house and moved on out.  We made it to Pike Creek; a city long lusted after by my hubster and me.  Ever since we signed our oldest lil dude up for The Little Gym out this way years ago, we mutually decided that this area is nice during our drives to his weekly classes.  The condensed version of how we really ended up here is we a) were underwater big time in our mortgage on the small ranch in Newark we owned and wanted OUT b) have a kid beginning Kindergarten this Fall and desperately wanted him out of our old crappy school district and into one of our state’s top ranking elementary schools and c) the area’s got a good rep.

After narrowing down the long and arduous process of figuring out where the heck we were going to move our lil family to, we opted for condo renting.  We’d tossed around the idea of renting a house, but I’m just not keen on the idea of maintaining someone else’s home for them.  The thought of paying for all utilities, garbage removal, heating, cooling lawn maintenance and everything in between on a home we wouldn’t own didn’t seem such a great idea to me.  It meant to me that we’d still have all of the bills and stresses we’d already had, only on another owner’s house.  It also meant less money allocated to paying down our non secure debts and paying into our savings.  Not too appealing….

John and I agreed to give this new city and new school a go, and “slum it” for a little bit.  (My husband’s term, although I’d hardly say we’re doing that and am well aware that there’s plenty of folks out there living in “slummy” conditions, so I’m not trying to offend anyone here…)  Simply put, we’re forgoing all of the bills a single family house brings with it, keeping our paid off vehicles, and scaling back on our spending.  We’re in a lovely condo- about the size of our previous home.  It actually feels more spacious to me given the high vaulted ceilings and the layout. With a cheap monthly rent and tons of inclusive utilities and ammenities.  And, I’m surprised to find that I’m really, really liking it here!  John… eh.  Not as much.  And oddly enough, for all of the reasons that I DO like it. 

I am NOT a yard person.  Sure I like being outdoors.  I love bike riding, pools, running around with the kids and our pooch.  All that stuff is fun.  But I hardly ever did those things in my own yard.  I was always packing them up into the truck and heading for play dates and parks and indoor game places.  Furthermore, the time and energy John spent on that damn lawn could have been better spent with me and our kids. 

We see him little enough with the work hours he’s gone for.  It used to bug the bejesus out of me when he’d be gone all day at the office, only to come home and tell me he’d eat the dinner I’d made for him later because he’s “got to get out there and start on the grass before it gets too late”.  “WTH, doode?  Like, I haven’t had adult conversation or interaction all day long.  Been waitin’ on your behind to get home for hours, chit-chat with me, help me with these crazy little people, and I even cooked you this dead animal dish *(Reminder, Vegetarian here!), and off you go to spend our precious time together working on the yaaard?....”  Nope.  I was not shaping out to be the happy camper I thought I’d be when I first laid eye on that spacious, green back yard.   And. It.  Took.  Hours.  Sometimes, even long after I’d bathed the boys and had them in bed, good ole Lawn Boy would enter the house hot, sweaty and stinky from the dark outside……… only to tell me he’d have to FINISH UP TOMORROW!  “Uhh, ‘scuse me?!”  ….. Pfft.  Moral of story: Lawns are overrated!  Lest I mention the ants, the bees, the toys that the kids left out all over the lawn I’d have to continuously walk around to pick up, the dog poo NOT picked up, the huge scary trees that swayed so much in the storms we’d be frightened of them crashing down on the roof and which left gigantic branches all over the yard to be gathered and piled in the corner for burning.  I’d been over this lawn care business for a long time. 

Not to mention the nosey neighbors, and the crazy ones who’d always ask to borrow things.  The trash men leaving our garbage can in the middle of the damn driveway causing me to cruise across the lawn sometimes to get into the drive.  The flower beds that never took off, and the vegetable gardens that rodents and bugs got to.  Pulling weeds and spraying killer on the side walk in front of the house, and shoveling the snow from our driveway and sidewalk as well as our elderly neighbors.  None of that was too enjoyable for me; have to admit.

Forward to not having to deal with any of that.  Can you envision my smiling face?  Ahh.  Maintenance guys take care of it all- and our surrounding shrubbery here is far more pleasing to the eye than anything we’d ever mustered up.  When something’s broke- they fix it.  “They” meaning the people we hire, like the plumber who came out this morning to replace a cracked pipe in the hall bathroom sink, and our landlord foots the bill.  Did I mention our landlord is completely awesome?  Yep, she is.  A single lady who purchased this place about four years ago, got transferred by her employer half way across the country, and is renting just because she doesn’t want to take the financial loss with selling in this market.  To be more clear: A landlord who is NOT AROUND.  Who is busy with her own life, happening miles away from us.  And who enjoys communicating minimally, preferably via email, and who allows us to take care of whatever we need to and send the bill her way.  I’m hesitant to even put this out there into the Universe, less I jinx it, but I do believe we’ve hit the jackpot here!  She even asked US to choose the paint colors for EACH room before moving in, and hired painters to make it happen for us.  I sure as heck can’t complain……….. And it sure as heck doesn’t feel like “slumming it”.

So, the problem?  None here.  Other than maybe I fear I’m enjoying this too much.  I know that John wants to have a home and a yard and projects to work on together.  He envisions purchasing a home in the near future, and gutting it.  He wants trampolines, and pools, and grass.  I thought I’d wanted that too.  I even thought just before moving here that maybe, just maybe I’d made a grave mistake.  That we may be miserable here, and that this lifestyle change would be a rough adjustment.  How crazy was it for me to realize that I like smaller spaces.  Less cleaning, less clutter, less responsibility.  The “American Dream” was drilled into our heads since birth- home ownership and all that comes with it: bar-b-q’s, big family dinners, swing sets.  Only I had the humongous kitchen, and huge hard, and the monthly mortgage to prove home ownership and didn’t really enjoy any of it.  It’s just not who I am, who we are.  We’re less “sit around the grill and fire pit” kind of folks, and more “sit inside the air conditioned living room playing games with your alcoholic beverage” kind of peeps.  Or better, “Always on the go” folks.  I’d rather spend my afternoon running around town than knee deep in dirt working on a flower bed.  I’d rather have one small hall to cross come laundry time, than lugging baskets across an entire house or up and down stairs.  I’d prefer to swiffer for five minutes, versus the half hour plus it used to take me.  I’m beginning to think that the dream of a big beautiful home to own is…..  for the birds!

The kids are happy.  The dog’s adjusted.  (And, by the way, totally loves the hell out of the awesome new dog park right down the road!)  And things are good right now.  (There was a crazy downstairs neighbor issue for the first month and a half, but even that worked out.  The nutty biatch up and moved away!)

So, for now…  My mentality is, if it ain’t broke- don’t fix it.  I’m content to sit tight right where I’m at and focus on the many other issues of vast importance that fill my plate these days. (Like both boys beginning school next week, for instance.)

Sometimes things aren’t what they seem.  Who knew this would be an ongoing learning opportunity?  So many lessons, really.  All of the time I spent worrying about our impending move here- a waste.  Sure makes this mantra prove pretty darn true, huh? 

And some times, what you think you want isn’t what you really want.  Sometimes it’s good to let go of old ideas, ones that maybe weren’t even your own to begin with, and open up your mind to something different and new.  I’ve learned that what I saw on Oprah one day when she visited Denmark and reported that the people there are overall generally happier and more content than their global counterparts, because they follow this motto “Less space, less things, more living” is actually true.  (Well, that and the Danes in general take life slower, have more assistance from their government, and focus more on the family and environment- leaving work earlier than we do to be together, and biking everywhere for instance.)  For me, I can see clearly now that the “American mentalities” that had been fed to me from every angle don’t even truly jive with what makes me happy.  Not at this moment in time, anyway.  No new car payment, high mortgage bill, or fancy anything has ever brought me the peace of mind I’ve found here in this lil condo with my dwindling debt and extra family time.

For the birds^ 

So, for now at least, Condo livin’ is gooood.  And it’s so surprising to me, still, that I would even say that.  What a pleasant surprise!  A welcome lesson in life this time that didn’t include some kind of painful endurance, struggle, or fight to figure out.  A lesson this lil condo tucked away in the hills and trees of Northern Delaware has taught me.  We never do know what unexpected pleasantries and lessons life has to offer us.  

And!  Not all lessons have to be hard learned- and that’s another lesson unto itself right there!

Images found @:

myfreewallpapers.net

http://www.searchquotes.com/viewimage/The_Reason_People_Find_It_Hard_To_Be_Happy/91/

martindaveyillustration.co.uk  

Uncertainty, Short Sales, and Stress... Oh My!

The only thing certain is uncertainty.  And uncertainty sucks.

The unknown blows.  And it’s especially unnerving when so much is on the line.  Such is the life of a home seller of a short sale in this market.  It’s crappy enough trying to sell a home right now.  With the plethora of choices out there, and less buyers than ever before since everyone and their mom is unemployed, selling in this market now is frustrating as hell. Trying to sell when you weren’t intending to sell, with a quick approaching deadline of foreclosure hanging over your head, and knowing you won’t see a dime from it, but will instead take a pretty hefty blow on your credit report:  Way suckier. 

Such is OUR life right now. . . .

Even though I started out on a really sour note, to your surprise perhaps, I’m not even that bitter about it.  Coming to terms with moving on from the house in this way has settled in and I’m at peace with our circumstances.  I’m confident that we made the best choice for us right now.  I’m sure that helps with the ‘at peace’ part.  We are grossly underwater in our mortgage and paying a far higher price for this house than anyone ever should have.  Short selling is the best course of action for us.  Cutting your losses in a situation where you purchased at the height of the market, and your property is appraised at a whopping $94,000 less just five and a half years later:  staying would be beyond idiotic.

Thus, here we are, short selling this thing.  We can walk away from here without being penalized or taxed and that bank can have borrowers in the property paying fair market price for it.  (Just in case you weren’t sure of what a short sale actually meant.)  I just wish the goddamn thing would sell!  I’d gladly pack up all of our crap, and move on.  It’s the stagnant feeling of imprisonment and uncertainty that drives me bonkers.  The when, when, when, and even if it will sell before foreclosure happens... but most over-the-top, bonkers-driving, annoying of all, is showing your home over and over and over again.  It’s as if the home already isn’t “yours” any longer, in a way.   The inconvenience, lack of privacy, inability to truly plan anything, unforeseen costs, and impairment of truly living in your home, is enough to make you just want to hand the mortgage company over the deed and dip.



So, here’s the lowdown on our personal experience of short selling our home so far…..



We’ve switched realtors.  Added advertisements.  Reduced the price, twice five times.  Dug a hole, and placed a small plastic statue of St Joseph upside down in our front yard, near the ‘for sale’ sign, and facing the street just as all of the realty web sites told us to do.  Yet, house showing upon house showing, and three five open houses later- still nothing. We’ve had two promises of offers, yet for separate reasons no offers could be made.  Another lady said the place needed to house both of her tables: dining room and kitchen.  But, alas, there is no formal dining room in our quaint rancher.  So off she went.   

Another couple said the back screen door, that our wonderful yet overly hyper adopted pup destroyed, must be replaced before they’d make an offer.  I can’t see someone being serious about purchasing a home yet walking away over a fifty dollar storm door?  But, we told our realtor we’d replace it if they like.  I’m not holding my breath that anyone nitpicking over something so insignificant and un costly is authentically serious about purchasing this house in the first place, though, obviously.  (Our hunch was correct, as it turns out, since we never did hear back from them even though we agreed to meet their demands.)

We have a doctor interested in purchasing our home, who said we needed to wait for something negative to fall off from his credit report and then we’d see his offer at the end of January.  He was so in love with the house that he returned several times, actually.  Well, nearing the half way point of February, I’m beginning to think that ship has sailed.  Disappointing, it is.  Time and again, getting your hopes up, as one must know, is not so much fun.  :-/

Then, finally, there was the Halleluiah moment that took place in a Wawa, of all places, after my normal Monday morning workout at the gym.  As I was awaiting the creation of my specially ordered Vegetarian breakfast sandwich, (which, by the way:  Seriously, Wawa?  I cannot possibly be the Only Vegetarian around here that frequents your stores and would like a darn breakfast sandwich in the morning with my cup of joe.  Would it kill ya to put out a few of those bagel sandwiches sans the sausage patties or the bacon?   Really!??? Urr. But, I digress.  As you probably realize by now I’ve got a bad habit of doing.)  So, here I am in the Wawa and my cell phone alerts me that I’ve received an email from my realtor.  The agent’s message says we have an offer on the house, exclamation point.  “Yes”, escapes my mouth, while I think my mom is still next to me. (She’s got a terrible tendency of wandering off like a young child when out at stores together.)  I soon come to realize everyone around me just assumes I’m talking to myself, probably.  Not that I cared.  I’m too ecstatic to care at this point.  (The nightmare of showing our house is O V E R. Over!  Is that the angels I hear singing, or just Michael Buble’s crooning over the radio system? It’s all over, over, over, over!!! Ahhh!)  I’m over too- I’m over the moon, that is.  I feel an almost physical relief in my shoulders and neck, as though a literal weight’s been lifted from my body.  Looking back, I can’t believe I didn’t spill my hazelnut coffee as I skipped through the parking lot back to my truck. 

Two days later, my phone alerts me again of an email from my realtor.  The woman pulled her offer.  Back to square one.  I can’t say that I was crushed.  I knew full well not to count those chicks before they hatched.  But damn.  She’d offered full asking price.  Filled out all the paperwork, submitted it to us, and we filled it out and sent it back.  Things were looking pretty good….  Her agents, in short, explained to my agent that the lady second guessed herself, had doubts, and changed her mind.  And that’s the way that cookie crumbled. 

More hassle of people trampling through our home, finding places to take the boys, wasting gas and money on eating out, not cooking meals at home because we’re trying to avoid the mess of pots and pans that need to be hastily cleaned up at the drop of a hat if that telephone should ring and another agent wants to come show the property within ten minutes or within the hour.  I’ve become so obsessed over keeping the house sparkling, that I fear I’ve morphed into a “Mommy Dearest” with the kids.  I don’t even want them to take out their finger paints, play dough, puzzles or board games.  All because of the mess I’ll have to hurry and clean up in between showings.  In and out we go… Back inside, we look at the clock:  two hours until the next showing.  What should we do?  Hmm, sit down and watch tv and do NOTHING.  Touch NOTHING.  That’s what we’ll do.  We don’t want to clean up behind those messy boys any more.  I don’t want to wipe one more counter, vacuum one more carpet, or remake one more bed.  We’re lounging on the sofa, and people show up a half hour early, so we rush back out.  The next morning the telephone rings at 8:30, it’s the appointment scheduling center asking if so-and-so agent can come with his client in an hour to see the place.  We clean the house, the boys, dress them, dress ourselves, leash the dog up out back with his bowls, leave no surface un-wiped, (yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda), get into the Jeep, take off for an hour, find breakfast to feed those hungry kids of ours, and return home in about an hour only to find out that the appointment was (yet again) another no-show.  (That one really gets our goat.  And it happens A Lot.) 

Two weeks ago we had a man and his realtor show up unexpectedly claiming they honestly did have an appointment.  My dear, and way more patient and understanding than me, husband allows them to come on in.  The man loves the home so much, that he schedules a time the following weekend to bring his girlfriend back to get her input on it.  Their realtor emails us after that visit to say they both like the house, only one wants it while the other wants another home they viewed.  Soooo, they decide to keep looking.  (Another one down.) 

Presently, we’ve got a lady interested in purchasing our home after walking through it last weekend. She wants another appointment now, to bring her son with her whom she’s purchasing with.  Waiting to hear how that one turns out, yet it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to hang on to the very little optimism we’ve got left. 

There’s also (sigh) another open house scheduled for this coming Sunday, and we’ve just today dropped our home price by a whopping thirty seven thousand dollars since it first went on the market.  The last price reduction merited a ton of new showing appointments.  Our phone’s been ringing off the hook, and we’ve been ingesting more fast food, and hitting the local libraries more often, and dropping in on family to “visit” more times than I can even count any longer.  I acknowledge this is all good, and I’m happy there’s interest in the house.  It’s great, yet extremely tiring.



The cake topper of frustrations occurred tonight, though, when my realtor popped up out of the clear blue and frantically told me I must clean my disaster of a house for a woman who will be here in ten minutes to look at my home. In fact, the house has never been a “disaster” since we put the sucker on the market.  But today I had a very good excuse for it being so disastrous.  While I won’t get into too much detail, the gist is that my bitchy monthly visitor is here for a truly horrific visit, which is the reason for doing Z E R O cleaning for the past forty eight hours except for some laundry).  So in a whirlwind, I’m informed that a woman saw the house today from her car and needs to see it tonight.  My agent lady is like the Tasmanian Devil, whizzing from room to room, breathlessly straightening up the items that lay strewn about my tables, sofas and floors as I stand there in pain and serious confusion. Tonight, as in “right now”, my agent informs me as she hastily runs around the place putting toys away in the play room and asking me where the sheets are to the boys’ beds that I’d just washed and dried.  I didn’t quite understand why it was this woman was exempt from scheduling an appointment like every other person.  Or why it was that she couldn’t make it here during the four hours of open house taking place this coming Sunday.  I asked questions, like, “Does she live out of state and is only here today?  Why in the world must she come now!?”  But, no, that didn’t appear to be the case.  It appears all my agent knew was that another agent she knows well and trusts a whole bunch had told her that this buyer of hers simply HAD to view the property tonight.  She tells me impulse buyers are great, and this potential buyer was one.  The boys and I had just been ordering dinner online when my realtor manifested, as the killer cramps and debilitating lower back pain was too much for me to even imagine standing long enough to heat up frozen fish sticks and french fries in the oven for them to eat.  Yet here I was washing dishes, making my bed, hiding the dirty laundry, and emptying bathroom waste baskets.  We were in our pajamas still from the morning, and I’d been counting down the minutes until I could put them to bed and hit the sack myself when all of this just happened.  In short, I was completely caught off guard by what seemed like a really unorthodox way of doing business when selling a house. 

I get the sense of urgency in wanting to get this place sold.  Boy, do I ever!  But this fiasco actually dizzied me, and left me bewildered.  Who does this?!!??!!??  And to be honest- it quite irritated me.  It’s enough that I feel my home isn’t my own already, with all of the running off so that strangers can go through my personal belongings and underwear drawer any ole time they desire.  (We’ve noticed things like rummaging around in our CLOSED UP television armoire in the living room, and our bed comforter being messed up as though people actually got on top of our bed!)  If that’s not bad enough, I can’t even get a heads up now?  I mean, it’s not a vacant property….  A family friggin’ lives here!  Our family!  I can’t wallow in the misery of my menstrual cycle, laid up on the couch while wearing no bra and put off dishes for the night in my own home without folks barging in on me?  Seriously now, am I overreacting?  Because in hindsight, I almost can’t even believe what just happened here. 

So I schlepped my hurtin’ behind around the house cleaning, with the help of my realtor and the boys.  Rushing, and sweating, and cursing this wretched period of mine every step of the way.  Then off my agent runs to a Girl Scout obligation for her sweet little daughter, and the boys and I open our door a good ten minutes later for a young Spanish couple.  They arrived alone, with no agent.  They spoke very low, and in all Spanish from what I did catch, and the male looked so disinterested that he appeared to be text messaging on his cellular device the whole time.  In two minutes flat, they said a bland, “thanks”, and off they went.  Sure glad I didn’t shuffle mine and the boys’ butts into the Jeep, and around the corner in the dark cold for that one! 

………………………….  ???  Are any of you thinking what I’m thinkin’?  What the hell was all that!!??  And if I’m wrong, somebody for friggs sakes please enlighten me. 

 

In closing:  I’m not a bitter, “Boo Hoo, I feel so sorry for me.  Life is abysmal.  The government sucks, my life sucks.  Kill me now.”, type of person.  I hate to complain right now, too.  I truly do.  Being an optimistic Positive Polly sure makes getting through sucky stuff like this a whole lot easier.  In fact, I’d be willing to bet that not many other people short selling their home have put the effort, time and money into trying to get it sold that my hubs and I have.  (Just to name a few things: we patched, sanded and painted a ceiling, painted doors and woodwork, purchased items to “stage” then actually spent a good chunk of time putting all of those items up, de-cluttered, rearranged rooms several times over, hung curtains, added a light fixture, landscaped some of the back yard, packed up a good amount of boxes, borrowed trucks and time from our family and friends to move things around, omitted several pieces of furniture that we’d prior used on a daily basis, cleaned out the garage, made about a dozen trips to Good Will donating items and we leave on our electric base board heating in the den much of the time for the potential buyers- which it just so turns out has quite dramatically increased our electric bill… And all for the sake of making the home appear cleaner and more spacious and more appealing in general.)  We’ve gone balls to the wall.  As have the realtors working for us.  And we honestly appreciate their efforts very, very much.  But I can’t help but wonder where does one selling their home draw the line?



With the huge sense of urgency in getting this house tidied up, and shown to that couple this evening, it’s quite strange that I haven’t heard a word back from anyone.  I contacted my realtor twice, but she never responded.  The people who came to look at the house didn’t strike me as serious buyers, or even as being all that into my house at all.  But, hey, what do I know?  Maybe the inconsiderate people who demand to see your home at the drop of a hat could be “the ones”, and make it all worth it in the end. 

But I can’t help but wonder, is this normal protocol when selling a home?

All I know is this home selling hasn’t just inconvenienced me and my family, it’s flipped our world pretty much upside down.  Even the boys have been acting out in a very noticeable and negative way and none of us have been ourselves since this process began.  I think it’s high time to set some very necessary boundaries in order to reestablish even the smallest bit of structure for these children and our family unit. 

The uncertainty of whether the home will sell or not will still be there, but not the uncertainty of whether or not I’m going to be dropped in on while bra-less, cramping, and about to eat dinner with my kids.  If somebody’s serious enough about wanting to see your home, and possibly making an offer on it:  they’ll make the appointment to see it or they'll get their behinds to one of the frequent weekend open houses. 

And that’s my take on it…

.