ProudMary

Waiting a Hole in the Floor

So the appraisal came in low.  Quite low.  Like 20% lower than the sale price.  That was two weeks ago.  The seller is shocked, angry, and making us wait.  And wait and wait and wait.  She said she'd get back to us three days ago and still nothing but silence. 

Forgive the following rant, but I have a few things that I'd like to get off my chest before I chuck this whole thing in the can, and writing it all down will help.  First, I can understand that she is upset, even livid that her property isn't worth what she thought.  I honestly know exactly how it feels, as it just happened to us four months ago.  But there is a difference between having unrealistic expectations of value based on nothing other than your own overtrusted gut instinct, and getting screwed.  I assure you this is the former.  The appraiser actually laughed at me when I told him the sale price, and the appraisal is based on sales before the market really fell.  Second, about the waiting.  I can't get my head around why anyone in this real estate market, who is hoping to sell a property, would want to piss off the buyer by sitting on their answer for weeks.  I can tell you it's not making me want it more.  I can think of ten really solid reasons why she should sell this property, and no reasons why not.  The price, yes, but I have it on good authority that the number we are now looking at...the top of the appraisal range, mind you...is actually much higher than she nearly sold it for just a few years ago.  So, she's playing a game and it's a dumb one and I wish someone would talk some sense into her because frankly she's fucking this whole thing up.

It was honestly pissing me off to the point of wanting to throw things, which is so far outside of my normal personality that I know this shit is really getting to me.  It's not necessarily losing the deal, which would make me sad but I can get over.  It's that this is so clearly the best thing for both parties, and she is exhibiting unparallelled stupidity.  If she walks away from this I guarantee she will regret it, and for some reason that sort of shortsightedness drives me batty. 

But, yesterday I realized that I won't die if this thing doesn't happen, and that I'm not willing to wear a hole in my stomach waiting for this incredibly rude woman to get around to making her decision.  So, I'm thinking about other possibilities if this falls through, which is far more happy and productive.  In a word, I'm moving on.  She can throw her silent hissyfit for-fucking-ever if she wants to.  Enjoy.

Sunday Morning

BabyEve is the clinginess thing eveeeer.  I know it sounds terrible: "oh, the human embodiment of an angel loves me so much that it hurts to be parted from me for even an instant" and she truly is the sweetest thing on this planet, but at the same time it would be fabulous to be able to leave the room or get something done without a sweet babygirl either losing her marbles, or attached to my front, each hand thrust into my hair, earnestly sucking her lower lip.  Is that wrong?  I keep trying to get the Cap'n to step up and intercede, get her to rely on him a bit emotionally, but it's hard when she's screaming for me and the best medicine is to walk away and let her bellow.  So, I guess that means that I'm just as much to blame.  Huh!

Today is Sunday, so guests are stopping by, getting coffee, checking out.  Somehow this morning I ran out of coffee within 15 minutes of opening...clearly some foreign big cups were brought in without my knowing...and so this morning I'm in frantic, paranoid, compulsive making of never-ending pots of coffee.

I have to admit that some days, particularly the extremely cold, snowy, icy ones, I'm really loathe to go clean up after the weekend.  Even though it is nice to get out of the house, get some moderate exercise, have some fresh air and some much-needed alone time, sometimes it seems like a never-ending limbo, or maybe even a mild personal hell, to work to return rooms and cottages to their original condition, only to have them re-dirtied and then re-cleaned.  Forever and ever amen.  Sometime we refer to it as exorcism...particularly if we didn't particularly like the guests.  On those occasions I can't help but always think "This house is clean." a la Poltergeist, when I close the door to a hard-won clean cottage.

Yesterday we had an appraisal at the place we're hoping to buy next door, the old restaurant that we'll convert to a larger living space and additional units for the business.  It's nice to have progress, but frankly, the whole thing gives me a stomachache.  Even though there are bright spots, I don't particularly like the building, and this is likely going to be our home for a long, long time, I assume.  If it weren't for the location, I frankly wouldn't want it.  And after all our work, all these years, it would be nice to finally really love our house, you know?  Also, I'm afraid relations with the seller (no real estate agent is involved, unfortunately) have begun to dissolve, which I've sort of been anticipating.  She is a bit of a hothead.  And, she seems to be strangely unacquainted with the process of real estate transactions, not knowing that there would be this curious thing called an "appraisal" that would confirm our number, and that the current sad state of real estate values might ding the number a bit.  She's a big paranoid mess right now.  We should hear back late this week.  I don't think she's going to be happy, and I don't know what her reaction will be.  This is the part of real estate transactions I hate, mostly it's the waiting but it's also the potential for conflict and failure. 

Now I shall  don my vestments to exorcise the demons of unclean.

The Year in Review

Not that I assume I have anyone still listening here...but I thought a good update might be the best way to both dive back in, and to attempt to bridge a sizable gap in continuity.  I suppose, for historical purposes?

When I last wrote, we had put our house in Queens on the market, and the Cap'n had just returned from the city to do his first round of repairs.  He stayed with his brother, our upstairs tenant, during the repairs, which went so well that they have yet to speak to each other to this day.  Which is honestly not a surprise.  After years of tumultuous relations, we decided to put our wing out for him, and he paid us back with violent anger and bitterness.  And then he left in April, leaving us with the uncomfortable decision of either leaving the apartment empty (shows better but is expensive) or getting another tenant (who knows the house is on the market...so is probably a pretty transient individual and not someone I want living in my house.)  Thus adding one more reason to why I never want to be a fucking landlord again.  We left it empty and ate the rent.

We ended up getting a total of six offers on the house, five of which fell through.  One survived the summer, eecked through the crash, and then crawled on its toes for a few months more.  We had to make a major last minute concession to keep its pulse thumping, but we finally closed the day before Thanksgiving.  The only silver lining was that the buyers were really cool people that I can totally see living in the house, and I genuinely liked them.  We didn't get anywhere near what we could have gotten a couple of years ago, but whatever, it's done and I'm glad.

So, the next step, and the reason why we sold the house, is to better our living situation up here.  Which is ridiculous.  I should photograph our bedroom and put it up here...it's a king bed...a crib, a changing table and a toddler bed, all rubik's cubed into the room. There is effectively no floor space visible.  Why a king bed you ask?  Shouldn't we change that out for a more civilized size that would fit better in our small living quarters?  Because, when you sleep in the same room as your two little children, you all end up piled in the same bed by morning, and you best have space for it unless you want to end up in a bruised, battered, angry heap (not the kids...I assure you we are the recipients of the abuse).

Well, you would think that buying a house would be easier than selling one, but then you must not be trying to buy an old defunct restaurant that's been out of use for years.    We're planning to live downstairs, which is actually very nice, and then we'll turn the two upstairs apartments into new lodging units, which would also allow us to convert our current living quarters into a new unit.  Three new units (we hope) will finance the monthly cost of the mortgage.  Although we've agreed on a price, we're not sure it's going to appraise for that, so it's very possible the deal won't survive the month.

ALSO...bare with me here...we reside in the watershed area for NYC drinking water.  NYC is the largest municipality that doesn't filter their drinking water, they don't have to because it's so damn lovely and pristine up here.  To keep it that way, the NYC Department of Environmental Protection (DEP) places strong restrictions on what anyone can do in the watershed, and unfortunately for us, they take a lot of interest when property changes hands.  To make a very painfully long, murderously beaurocratic story somewhat shorter, if a property has been out of its original use for more than three years, or if you're changing the use, they can require a septic upgrade.  Which is expensive, and which there is no space for.  It's all very dreary and doesn't make a good story, I realize.  So, we're hoping for a miracle.  On two fronts.  So, it's probably not going to happen.  Which means we need to look for a house that's not on-premisis, which, while it sounds lovely to get a daily reprieve from this place, means more time away from eachother, which we have apparently come to like very much.  I'm sure it will drive our kids nuts once they hit 13, but I've grown happily accustomed to always being within 100 feet of my entire family. 

Let's see...what else.  The kids are great, Poopies is now all-boy, no-baby, and bowls me over daily with his charm and wit.  BabyEve is up and about and starting to speak well, she is made of fairy dust and sugar, likes to dance, and thinks that her brother walks on water.

Business is good, we've had a bit of a slow-down from the economy (I'm guessing that's it, anyway), but we're still above water and as long as it doesn't deepen (for us, anyway) we'll be fine I'm assuming.  Not the best time to be buying a house and expanding your business, but as long as we can weather the Spring and things recover by the end of 2009, we should be fine, thank goodness.

Ok, that's the wrap-up for now, now I'm clear to get back to posting about curious wonderings, childrearing conundrums and asshole guests just like the good old days.

Annual Post

Wow, nearly a year since my last post.  Is there a NaBloPoMo for annual blogging? 

I guess I'm writing because I've been thinking more and more lately about writing on this thing again, for what it's worth, because I enjoyed the diary aspect of it way back when.  Maybe it's the fear that, in the presence of only toddlers and preschoolers, my vocabulary is quickly waning, maybe it's my relentless desire to finally get around to doing something somewhat creative and expressive with my "spare" time.  Anyway, I've been thinking about it.  We'll see.

I think I'll go for that massage now

When is that Dyson guy going to invent a coffee maker that won't get completely clogged with a single ground, causing it to erupt in angry burning hotness all over everything everywhere?

Anyway.

Cap'n back on premises:    check. 
Niece back home:    nearly check.
Children on antibiotics:    two.
Business intact:    check.
Inches of snow:    10
House on the market:    check.
Offers on the house:    one.
Serious offers on the house:    zero.

It occurred to me yesterday that before we did this, before we ditched our jobs and moved to the country to do our own thing, that I carried an unspoken assumption that once I left the city I would somehow acquire all the spare time and sanity that I ever desired.  Instead, there are more plates spinning, and zero time for moi.  And still, I couldn't actually tell you what actually fills my day.  Kids, yes.  Customers, yes.  Cleaning, yes.  It doesn't sounds like much, but boy howdy, it's a lot. 

So, yes, the Cap'n did a knock up job in the city and was back in record time.  And my niece visited to help pick up the slack and was incredibly helpful.  If I could snap my fingers and have anything right now, it would be a 16-year-old daughter who is so thoughtful and eager to help.

Last week poor BabyEve came down with a nasty case of RSV, and nearly landed in the hospital.  For four days she just sort of checked out...distant gaze...nothing sweet, just misery.  She's doing much better now, and it's amazing to have her back. 

Whilst hovering and fretting over BabyEve, I knew Poopies had Yet Another Virus, but figured it was business as usual.  I knew he was carrying a fever, but figured it was just a new cold settling in, and would pass like the others.  I knew he had been coughing for awhile, but honestly, we're all always at some stage of a cough.  It wasn't until his eyes got all pink, puffy and glazed and he stopped eating that I realized something was up.  The Cap'n took him to the doctor yesterday and apparently got a few raised eyebrows at the severity of the Pooper's illness.  I feel so bad, he was really sick.  To be fair, BabyEve's illness was far more dangerous, but it pulled all my attention and I forgot about my poor little guy, quietly festering in the corner.  Poor.  Little.  Sweet.  (and now skinny) Pooper.  Ugh.