Wouldn’t it be nice if things just worked out like they were supposed to?
Well…actually they do. What they don’t always do it work out the way WE think they are supposed to.
That is exactly what trips most of us up. The expectation of how something is supposed to be. Like for instance…you put your house on the market after 10 long agonizing years and 60 days of blood, sweat and tears just to get an offer within less than 48 hours with a 6 week closing date. You feel so good knowing that by Christmas you will be in your new place, or at the very least out of this one. You say a little thank you, panic just a little and start trying to figure out where the fuck you are going to live in 6 weeks. Then shit happens. There is a problem with the buyers loan, no biggie just a set back. Then there is another set back. Now instead of being out before Christmas, you’ll be out before the end of the year. Woot….a new year and a new place!! Honestly it’s like all the rainbows and sunshine are filling my world.
During all this we searched for a place to land. I was not going to settle for just anything that I could afford…it was going to have to be the right place. Being a person of faith and gut I knew that when we found it…we would know. My daughter was not so sure. She was starting to settle, “This one is ok.” “I could live with this.” “I don’t need to have…”. There was no fucking way that I had waited this long only to jump into something that I was going to regret, or that would make me feel like I didn’t belong, again. Just have faith…it’s coming. As the closing date grew closer I have to admit, I started to worry myself. I made arrangements to rent so that we wouldn’t feel rushed to find a place. My realtor was getting to know my preferences and we saw a lot of cute places that just were not fitting as a whole. One had NO yard for the dog. One was out of the school district. One didn’t have space for the boy. So on and so on.
Every week I would send a list of potentials to the realtor and we would visit…always coming up a little short. One day I sent her a listing that had been on the market for a little over a month, “why haven’t we looked at this one?”. Neither of us had a clue. It was in the school district, two bedroom duplex with a basement, two baths, small yard and super clean. Almost as soon as we got in the door I knew I would be making an offer. My daughter joined us shortly after and when asked what she thought she said “IT’S A 10”. That meant, make an offer. Now…just because I think everyone needs to understand why I believe the things I do, I’m going to tell you what I was telling my realtor the whole time. “Carmen, I’ll find it a week before the closing.” She laughed, but as it got closer she would tell me that she was beginning to believe me. I put the offer in on the house and after 2 days of negotiating the offer was accepted and they were willing and able to close the same day as mine. This was one week before the closing on my house. Don’t doubt me people, I know my shit.
Everything was a go…until the buyers had more issues with their loan. Now we were looking at somewhere in January. Fuck. I’m going to have to spend another Christmas if this fucking house. I’m going to have to spend New Years in this fucking house. Ugh….I’m going to lose MY house. This is where it get’s tough, and where you have got to have fucking faith that things will work out exactly the way they are supposed to…and not the way you want them too.
Not only were my sellers cooperative, but everything was FINALLY falling into place. We had a REAL closing date, both scheduled on the same day. Even though we did not get to spend Christmas in the new place, or New Years…there was a sweet perk to closing after the first of the year. Apparently when a home is held by a senior, they get a lock on their taxes so they don’t go up. This is assessed every year. Every January. Even though I am NOT a senior I get to benefit from that for the whole year. My taxes will stay the same as the previous owner for the first year. See…that’s how this fucking shit works.
This was going to turn out to an even bigger blessing than I originally thought, because after just one month in my new home I found myself unemployed. Jesus grab the wheel cause this girl is going to crash hard.
I guess this is where I should have been committed to the psych ward, because just when I was feeling like it was ok to exhale and relax, it wasn’t. Not even fucking close.
****More hokey shit****
When we bought our first home waaaaay back when I was just a baby (ok l I was 22), I said we would be in that house for 5 years.
Year 5 we moved and bought a bigger place just in time to find out I was preggers with baby blessing number one. I said we would be in that house for 10 years.
At the 10 year mark I was settled into it and thought it would be ok to stay longer. The place fit, I felt relaxed (sort of anyway, for someone who was depressed and failing at marriage). That was when the In Laws decided to move away and sell their house and when the hubs thought it was a brilliant idea to fucking buy his childhood home. Fuck.
After the months and months of crying over moving into this house I was starting to feel like I had to embrace this hole as a stepping stone to a better life, I said 7 years.
3 years later I was divorced. At year 7 I had been divorced for 4 years, in a shitty job, in a not so good relationship and there was no way I was getting out of there. WTF??? Where did this 7 year commitment come from??? How the fuck can I be right soooo often only to come up short this time???
By the time I moved out I realized that I had been in that house as a single parent for exactly 7 years.
BOOM. That’s insane right???? Hahaha…yeah, I told you to trust me.
So I’m sure you are wondering…how long in this new house? As of today I still don’t have a clue. Nothing is coming to me, not a single nudge. I have a few theories on why that is, but right now, this post is long as shit.