Jul
25
The first thing I fell in love with in our house was the cedar-lined ceiling in the living room. That, and the striking red wall over the fireplace. I just loved those two things, so much that I felt like I didn’t even care what the rest of the house looked like.
Over the years, we’ve put a lot of work into this place. We tore it apart at both ends and added a living room, an office, expanded a master bedroom and added a master bath. We added the two-car garage which has become the Man Shop. We expanded and updated the tiny kitchen. We replaced the carpeting with hardwood floors.
Was it worth the expense? I’m not entirely sure. We thought it was a great investment at the time, and for a while our market value soared. Then, of course, it crashed, like everyone else’s.
The renovations have made this a wonderful home to live in, though, and for that reason I don’t regret the effort and money. I hope we can get a fair price when it comes time to sell. I’m worried that we won’t. I’m worried because there are plenty of houses nearby that aren’t selling, whose FOR SALE signs have gathered dust over the months they’ve been on the market.
We had some realtors—from an agency that touts their quick sales and aggressive marketing—come through and look at our house, and the first thing they told us to do was paint the ceiling. Paint the red wall, too. People want neutral tones, they said. Oh, and you’ll need to price your house 40K below what you were thinking.
It’s the weirdest thing, I don’t know why that bothered me so much. They’re just doing their job, right? Telling us what, statistically, helps sell a house. It’s advice we can take or leave. And yet I thought, fuck these guys. Fuck ’em right in the ear. The fuck if I’m going to cover up the very things I fell in love with, years ago. The fuck if we’re going to give up on our asking price without even trying.
Everything about this is hard, right now. Hard choices and scary possibilities and people telling us we’re making bad decisions. Money worries, god. I don’t know what the right answers are.
So what else is there to do, but go forward with hope? Hope that someone else falls in love.
Jul
23
I was walking through our neighborhood with Dylan at my side, both of us pushing the empty stroller (“I PUSHING THE LAWNMOWER MOMMY!”—good for you and your fear-facing ways, kid), and we passed a house with a woman hanging out in the front yard with her young toddler. The little girl, probably around 18 months old, squirmed to see Dylan and grinned at us and waved, and the mom smiled and said hi, and I said hi back, and I . . . kept going.
So, let’s recap: here’s someone who looked about my age, with a kid pretty close to my kid’s age, who lives a whopping two blocks from my house. She seemed nice and god knows I could use a nearby friend, and I just kept walking. Instead of stopping and introducing us or even just exchanging more than a shy hello. What the hell.
(And then I came home and BLOGGED about it. Jesus.)
While I’m busy berating myself for being a socially broken Cro-Magnon, I’m also thoroughly enjoying some alone time with Dylan. Riley is in Oregon this weekend with JB, on his first guys-only camping trip (oh my god, he was so, so geeked about this, and I sure hope he’s having a fantastic time) and as much as I miss them both, it’s an entirely different lifestyle around here with just Dylan around. Fully 95% of his tantrums have completely disappeared, no shit. The screaming, the fighting, the utter chaos—it’s all gone. He’s been an absolute joy to be around.
Those of you with more than one kid, have you noticed this sort of marked behavior change when a sibling is elsewhere? The difference is truly stunning, and I wish I knew how to get to this place—the place where I actually enjoy spending time with my kid rather than wanting to pull my hair out by the roots—while our family unit is intact.
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