Taking my house

Last week The Fiancé and I decided to go look at a house we’d been watching online for months. We loved it online, but figured it would be sold before we could get to our buying time (stupid apartment lease). When it didn’t sell and they lowered the price 3 times, we both figured something must be wrong with it. The real estate market in our area has been doing pretty well. Houses are selling quickly. So the fact that it was in our ideal neighborhood, not far from our ideal price and we both loved the pictures, meant something had to be wrong.

The Fiancé surprised me when he told me he’d gone ahead and submitted the mortgage app to the credit union. We had the approval and I was confused. “Why did you do it now?” I asked him.

“Because I think we have to go see that house.”

I jumped up and down with joy. At least in my head, since I’m not much of a jumper.

Immediately after hearing this I arranged to see the house. And it was the only one we saw in person, even though we looked at hundreds online, and we loved it. We didn’t even need time to think about it, we prepared out offer immediately.

While we offered low, we fully expected them to counter much higher and meet in the middle. In the end we were scared to lose the house, so we just accepted their counter. Done.

Or maybe not.

After we accepted their counter, which was only about 1.4% less than listing price, they started adding contingencies. We’d asked for 14 days for inspection and they only wanted us to have 10. We asked for 21 days financing contingency, they only wanted us to have 14.

The big one, though – when we showed up last Saturday to look at the house we were told that last month another agent had shown the house and failed to shut the sliding glass door to the backyard, this causing moisture to enter the house and warping the wood floors. We all tried to find the damage and couldn’t. But the selling agent had told our agent that they would fix the floors, so we were fine with that.

In one of the later revisions of the contract they (the sellers) added language that said “Seller will attempt to fix the hardwood floors and if repairs can’t be made the floors will be recovered with another floor covering.”

The Fiancé sent me this language and I immediately said “NO!” I was driving so I could fully text my response, but that language made it sound like they could easily replace the wood floors with vinyl or carpet and we’d have no recourse. No, no and no. I wanted hardwood, just as the house had when I looked at it!

And if they couldn’t repair it, fine. We’d just have to adjust the price accordingly.

They fought us. And now here we are 8 days later with a contract hanging in the wind.

I 100% fully believe they’ve strung us along because they are hoping someone else will look at the house and offer them more. They bought it as a foreclosure in Nov 2012, remodeled it and listed it in January 2013 for $74,900 more than they paid. They started lowering the price shortly after and it was listed $40,000 less than the original listing when we looked at it. Our agreed-upon price was $43,000 less than the original price.

We love the house. We’ve furnished it in our heads…through all of my hours spent on Houzz and looking at furniture. We plan to have the wedding in the backyard of this house!

But 8 days later we still don’t have an agreement. And I’m livid now.

In a way I’m so mad I want to start looking at other places. They just don’t seem to want us to have this house. I know it’s not emotional – it’s all about $$ – but it’s emotional for us. We have already pictured the baby gates and plastic inserts in outlets. We’ve planned the backyard wedding there in our heads. We’ve spent hours debating furniture and how we should decorate. We want this house! And there’s no question our financing will actually go through. None at all. So when they’re fucking with us on dumb stuff it’s pretty insulting.

We keep hearing “The last buyers burned us. They weren’t approved.”

I’m sorry y’all had that bad experience, but I don’t think you get to take it out on us. We have envisioned raising our babies (or baby, maybe) here! We love this house! That’s why we accepted your counter without further counters. We want to live there!

We have forgiven the driveway that needs to be replaced to the time of $15k. We’ve forgiven the small bathrooms and the yard in dire need of landscaping. We want to start our family in this house and yet you are keeping us from it because of stupid shit.

Our 49th, or 2nd?, counter went in today with the language that we get to approve the floors before closing. We’ve agreed to everything they want, but we want to make sure they don’t put some bullshit carpet in, in place of the hardwood floors. And they haven’t responded. I’m sure they thought they’d get better offers over this weekend.

We looked at ONE house. We LOVED it. We made an offer and accepted theirs. And now we just sit in limbo. I’m 24 hours away from telling them to go fuck themselves.

This is supposed to be my kitchen:

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guilt

I met The Fiancé at work, in case you didn’t know. Long story short: I had a crush on him, but he was soooo not my type, so I struggled internally with it for a bit. He was just sooo nice. And – after all the men I had dated being sooo not nice – I couldn’t help but be attracted to him. He was cute and sweet, and did I mention sooo nice?

Six months after I started that job he finally asked me out on a date. I remember being so excited, but at the same time wondering if he just wanted to go have drinks/dinner as coworkers or if he was asking me out on an actual date. I was confused!

You see, I was a serial dater not too long ago. And, yes. I did the online dating thing. I met so many men who were lame as hell and I met a few I really liked. But mostly I met them online. So being asked out by a coworker was weird for me. Very, very weird. I just didn’t ever meet men in the traditional ways (traditional meaning pre-Internet dating ways).

Turns out he’d had a crush on me, too, and it was a real date. And we’ve been together ever since. 2 months ago he proposed in New Orleans – on our anniversary trip, almost 1 year after our first weekend trip together there.

The fact that we met at work is significant to this because our jobs required us to travel two weeks out of the month. We moved in together a short 5 months after we started dating, because it just made sense financially. And, well, we wanted to live together. We were spending all of our time together anyway, so why not?

But, as things go, the week after he proposed I accepted a new job with a company closer to home. Better position, more money, no more of that jackass micromanager I worked for, and – another added bonus – some separation of work and home. Not that it was bad working with The Fiancé – it never was. Although it only took about 6 months for people to figure it out, we barely talked in the office. Being on the same team made it a little odd, but we were both committed to maintaining professionalism and not letting our relationship follow us to the office. So it was pretty ok.

But – here I am – a 36 year old, perpetually single woman who has had full reign of all things solo for years…and I was one of those people who loved living alone. I’d adjusted. I was cool with it. Beyond cool with it – I really liked it! Then, suddenly, I’m in this relationship I’m super excited about and very happy to be in! But…I’ve lost my space. My space was now our space. And while I wanted it, it was hard to adjust to living with someone else and taking his needs into consideration at every turn.

We had the travel. My alone time. I missed him while we were both jetting off to random places around the US, but I loved my alone time. I loved sleeping alone again! And when you’re in a serious, committed, loving and wonderful relationship people don’t understand when you admit that. But I had been alone for years and I loved sleeping alone!

So, after we got engaged I gave my notice and started my new job. I would still get to travel, but this time I’d go when I want and where I want. No more micromanager bullshit. No more 23 mile commutes with my fiancé. I was able to do my thing.

Getting started with this new job meant I wouldn’t get to travel at first and oh, how I missed the energy of the airport and sleeping in random hotels and eating at random places if researched on yelp. I was dying to get back on the road.

And all the while The Fiancé was still traveling. He was still waking up for 7:30am flights every other Monday. And while I was jealous that I wasn’t flying out the next day, I was so damn excited to have 5 days to do whatever I wanted. In my own home!

This has now been going on for 2 months and I totally miss my travel. But I also love my new job and I’m gearing up to start traveling again. Next month I’ll be away from home for 10 days at the beginning of July and then again in the middle of July to head to Boston.

All this background info to say that on the Sundays before The Fiancé goes on a trip (like today) he starts stressing hard. He doesn’t love the travel like I do. He puts up with it. And he gets super clingy and asks me 100 times if I’m going to miss him.

Umm…if you don’t stop asking me the answer will be NO!

What he fails to realize is that I’m used to two weeks away, because when I was doing that same job we both flew out on the same Monday mornings. Now, it seems, he has been feeling some kind of way about me being home while he’s traveling instead of me being in some random place like him.

I swear to jesiis if I heard “Aren’t you going to miss me?” one more time this weekend I was going to stab my head with one of my stilettos. Of course I’m going to miss him! But do I need to tell you every 5 seconds!?

I started feeling guilty. I mean, yeah. I was super excited for a week alone. A week I could sleep diagonally across my (I mean, OUR) king-sized bed. I was excited to not have to make a carb for dinner that I’d inevitably want to eat even though while he’s gone I do sooo good not eating carbs. I looked forward to not answering “Hey babe, what’s for dinner?” Even though I absolutely love cooking and wouldn’t have it any other way.

So I just feel guilty. For wanting to enjoy my week alone when he so obviously is going to miss me like a kid misses cake.

I had to break it down for him. “Honey, of course I’m going to miss you. I always do! But back when I was traveling on the same schedule as you, you didn’t get so upset about things. You were fine knowing I had to get up at 3am to make my 7am flight, while you could sleep til 5. You didn’t care because I was doing the same thing you were. Now you’re feeling all clingy because you have to leave and I get to stay here. Trust me – I was just as happy to go then as I am to stay now. It’s not about not wanting you here! It’s about being used to having two weeks that I can do whatever I want! This never bothered you before.”

And he got it. Yup, he got it. I haven’t changed, just my travel schedule. And he doesn’t realize that I would much rather be out pounding the runway like he is!

Tomorrow morning he leaves. And I don’t care that this may sound wrong – I’m so happy to have a week to myself again. In my bed. With my kitty. Not missing him any less, but loving the little freedom anyway.

Because – really. I’m not doing so much different when he’s gone than if he were here. I just don’t have to hear 8,000 questions about dinner and weekend plans and why the cat is acting that way. I get to just relax. Sans questions. I get to just chill and watch trash tv and not have to hear about his to-do list.

This is what happens when someone living in a as hoc world (me) falls in love with an anal planner.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

But I am so, so glad for the break. And by Friday I will be dyyying for him to just get home!

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It all changed

I’ve been chosen.

For the past year I’ve marveled at the fact that someone loves me as much as CP does. It’s been wonderful and very scary, both at the same time. In a short year we’ve had seriously awesome moments and we’ve had those moments where I thought I could lose him. We’ve shown each other our souls; we’ve honored our commitments; we’ve remained true and strong (to ourselves and each other) no matter what challenges life has thrown at us.

Before CP I always knew I deserved to be loved the way he loves me, but I never really believed anyone would weather the storms or stick around through the hardest of times. I hadn’t experienced it before, so I didn’t think it was possible. In all honesty – I thought something was very, very wrong with me. Every time someone got close I would shut down and they would run. The fear was real. I have flaws – big ones – and I never thought anyone would be able to let the good outweigh the bad.

And after we initially looked at rings back in late December I felt cautiously optimistic. He’d seen my breakdowns. He’d seen my moments of shutting him and everything out. He’d seen me in the ugliest and prettiest of times. And while he was still here with me, I started to wonder why he hadn’t given me the ring yet. I turned into that girl stressing the ring so hard that I started to question myself and even the relationship.

Was he having second thoughts? Was I too much to deal with? Had my last mood swing sent him over the edge? Was he about to move out?

Every day I worried more. I retreated into my own head and found every little thing wrong with myself that he couldn’t possibly love. I mean, at least if I could point the unloveables out to myself it would surely lessen the blow some when he decided he couldn’t do it anymore.

Every dinner, every outing, every vacation turned into “where is my ring?” often followed by tears. Shouldn’t there have been a ring?

I was never that girl. Never. Now I was. And I hated myself for it.

On Friday when I was talking to Pastor Mama on the phone I asked her, “Has CP called dad yet to ask him?”

“Nope, not yet.” Shit.

“Seriously? Would you lie for him? Would dad tell you?”

“Dad would definitely tell me, but he hasn’t called. I’m sorry, baby,” my mama said.

I was heartbroken.

It has to happen in New Orleans, I told myself. Surely if he were really going to do it he would do it in the place I consider to be the place where we fell in love. Right? But he hasn’t even called my dad! Damn.

And then we went to our favorite oyster place and – wait! No ring in my oysters! What the hell?!

Next – a great dinner at Deanie’s. Nope, no ring.

On Sunday I was just over it. Over it! We were having dinner that night and as I got ready every little self-doubting voice in my head said “You’re not good enough. He’s never going to propose. He doubts this relationship and doesn’t know if he wants to be with you.” As I dressed, straightened my hair and put on my make-up, I fumed. I was angry. All kinds of nasty thoughts were going through my self-doubting, insecure head. I was ugly on the inside as I tried to put on the pretty outside.

“Alright,” I said. “Let’s go!” I was still holding my lipstick and gloss that I’d just applied, ready to walk out the door for the 8:30 reservation I’d made at Lüke.

“Wait,” he said. “Before we go.” And I watched him go down on his knee and everything halted.

“Will you marry me?” he asked as he pulled out the ring.

I almost died on the spot.

“Babe! Are you serious!? Yes! YES!” And I teared up as he slid the ring onto my finger.

In the end, he did it when he wanted to. In his way. In his time. He had it planned all along and didn’t even run when I was so scared he would. He was all in. And nothing could have been any more perfect.

He chose me.

He chose ME! Sounds silly, but it was so profound for me.

For the last 2 days I’ve done little more than stare at the beautiful ring on my finger. But – even more beautiful – is how relaxed and at ease I feel now. Gone is every single ounce of self-doubt. I’ve been happier and more jovial and calm and just plain madly in love. Knowing that he has chosen me was a big, huge deal for me. He has told me that he loves me countless times. He has shown it and backed it up and I had no reason to doubt. But suddenly having this symbol on my finger has reassured me that he’s not only NOT going anywhere, but that he has totally chosen me.

Chosen me! To be his wife. To mother his children. To fight off and weather any storm that comes our way.

I’ve never been calmer or nicer or more content in my entire life. He changed me. He believes in me. He loves me. He didn’t set out to do any of those things, but he succeeded at all of them.

And every time I look at my ring in admiration it’s only partly because it’s amazing and beautiful and sooo totally me, but also because it reinforces the fact that this man loves me so unconditionally that I can hardly find it believable. He loves ME. He chose ME.

What could ever be better than this?!

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