Another Update

It's official.  The first buyers have walked. I just received the rescission of their offer in my in-box.  The new buyers that appeared on the scene out of nowhere last week are still weighing our counter-offer.  We should know tomorrow if they want to stick it out or not.  They're going through the house again this afternoon, wanting to see it in the daylight (and clean, sans vomit covered man and baby, I'm sure).  It's all out of our hands at this point (isn't is always....).  Pray for favor, please!

Weekly (ahem) Update

Is it just me or have the last "seven" days felt more like, I don't know, thirty-three days?  Without further ado, a "weekly" update.

Nothing has happened with the bank.  Well, as of yesterday morning, that would have been my post every week since my last post over a month ago.  The bank has continued essentially to ignore the fact that they have a very competitive offer sitting in front of them.  To my knowledge, based on their updates, no one has even been assigned to look at the file.  90 days has come and gone, and the buyers have not given us any notice that they are going to extend the timeline on their offer, so for all intents and purposes, that offer is dead.

However, we received another offer yesterday.  The story behind it is a bit funny.  Tuesday of this week, the older girls and I went to a cookie exchange party (thanks for all the fun, Mary!), and Mr. Four Walls and the baby stayed home.  Peanut wasn't feeling too great, none of us have been really - 'tis the season, right?  Anyway, as Mr. Four Walls was getting her down to bed, she threw-up all over him and herself.  Right at that moment, as he was attempting to contain and clean the mess, he heard the front door open, and someone hollering "Hello?  Hello?"

Apparently some friends of our neighbors had decided they wanted to see our house even though it's not listed as an active listing in MLS.  Their agent did, in all fairness, call me ahead of showing as requested in the listing.  However, he called from our driveway shortly before 8 p.m. on a week-night, and as I was at a party I never even heard the phone ring.  Plus, we weren't expecting showings this week, as technically we still had the offer in play.  The house was (and still is) a disaster.

So there was my sweet, shirtless, vomit-covered husband, standing in the middle of a completely disheveled house, holding a tired, naked, vomit-covered toddler.  And really, that is the absolute best staging to sell a home, right?  The agent saw him and apologized.  Mr. Four Walls told them to feel free to look around, but as we weren't expecting anyone, they'd have to deal with the mess.  They were in and out in under 3 minutes.  Mr. Four Walls did overhear them on the way out, and it sounded to him that they were very interested.  He thought he heard their agent tell them to make a full-price offer.

And yesterday that they did, although "full-price" is a relative term and is still almost $100,000 less than we owed on the loan before the default and accruing ridiculous interest, penalties, and fees.  Time has run out on the original offer, and we get to start the game yet again. Yay. Our agent assures us that the bank should hold our place in line, but I'm not so sure.  They haven't gotten around to setting the auction date as they could have done the week of Thanksgiving, so we're still at a minimum 90+ days out from the big "F" word. 

So the countdown is on again.  We -technically- are not mutually agreed on the offer quite yet, so I suppose I'm counting my chickens before they hatch.  I have the file here in front of me, and as soon as I'm done composing this piece of literary ambrosia, I will fax it over to my agent with our changes and signatures, for him to submit to them and their agent.  If all goes well, though, we'll have another offer to send to the bank first thing Monday morning. 

Reset the clock.......tick...tock....tick.....tock........

I'm Dreaming of a Frozen Christmas

Today is Christmas Eve. I cannot believe it! Where has this year gone? Some days I wish we could freeze time, just for a short while. It all goes too quickly. You know those moments, right?

When you look at your children and realize that, even though you just brought them home from the hospital, they're going to be grown and gone tomorrow.

Freeze.

When your love for someone fills you so fully, there's no other place for it to go except streaming down your face in the form of sticky, salty tears.

Freeze.

When an ending is approaching, and you're not quite ready to say goodbye, to move on to the next beginning that will inevitably follow.

Freeze.

We may not get a white Christmas in our soggy corner of the world, but I hope that you each have a Frozen Christmas, at least for a few moments. Although, don't forget to let those moments thaw, because there are surely many more Freeze-worthy moments to come.

Merry Christmas.

Nancy

Weekly Update

Status from the bank:

• The file is still in the "prescreening" process,
• we have to have all the documents updated and resubmitted again by next Thursday (the same day the bank can post the Notice of Trustee's Sale, giving us 90 days, if they're paying attention),
• and if any documents are deemed "missing" when they finally get around to looking at the file they WILL NOT discuss it with our attorney/negotiator but instead will snail-mail us a request for the information (and in all likelihood move our file back to the bottom of the stack).

Response from our negotiator concerning the bank and the 90 day mark looming, when the buyers can walk:

• "They know and don't care."

Lovely. 

On a positive note, it looks like we'll be able to move out at a leisurely pace in January since the bank appears to want to drag this out, or foreclose - both options give us time, I suppose.  We're meeting again with the landlord of the new place tonight to put in the deposit, go over paperwork, etc.  Oh, and we're car shopping this weekend.  The only hope we have for our budget to fit rent and childcare at the same time is to eliminate the car payment.  So we have a small lump-sum of cash with which to find a suitable replacement, and will either trade my beloved little car in on it or sell it private party.  With my brother's help, I'm hoping to have something "new" in the driveway by the end of the weekend so that we can get going on unloading my car if we don't trade.  It's been a good little car; I should have named it.......... at any rate, wish us luck!

Home Sweet Home

Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,

Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.

-John Howard Payne

We have found it, the place that we will soon call home.  For months we've been debating on when and where to move, and we could never really agree.  Last week, however, we both talked again and decided that it's almost time.  Almost time to say good-bye to what used to be our sanctuary and has lately become...I don't know.  I almost said "prison," but that seems a bit melodramatic.  It's more that it's become...nothing on a good day, and a salty salve on an open wound on a bad day.  We decided that we will get through the holidays and move right after the first of the year, no matter what happens with the bank in the next six weeks.  So we began the search....

...and yesterday, we found THE place.  When Mr. Four Walls and I walked through it, we both new it could most definitely be home for us.  Don't get me wrong, it's not our dream home - partly due to the fact that we will go from three toilets to (gulp!) one.  Not wanting to be rash, we looked at a couple of other places and came home to think, pray, and talk.  Really, we're six weeks out from the New Year, so we have time to be sure.  However, we fairly quickly and easily agreed that we had found our new place.

Tonight we took the kids to see it, and they didn't want to leave.  Peanut decided that the handle on the oven door resembled a monkey bar, so that's a habit we're going to have to break, but other than that (and the lone toilet....) it suits us just fine.  The owner even came down on the rent by $125 per month as we were talking to him.  Sweet!  It's the right mix of down-grading and up-grading, simplicity and style, budget-consciousness and sanity-saving.  There are "fun" projects for Mr. Four Walls towards which the landlord eagerly gave his blessing, and the girls are excited to live closer to some friends whom they rarely get to see.

As we drove across town back towards our...non-home, I almost cried.  In fact, when the owner was walking us out and let us know how happy he was that we called him back because he knew that we were the right people for the place, I wanted to hug him.  I didn't because that might have been a bit awkward, but the thought crossed my mind.  Mr. Four Walls drove the dark, winding road back to the place that we will soon leave, and it hit me: for the past six months or so, I have felt homeless.  Not homeless like I sleep in a doorway and scrounge for a meal, but Transient. Unsettled. Insecure.

That feeling is gone just like that.  Anxiety is giving way - for this evening anyway - to anticipation.  And these four walls, a roof, a door, some windows that once sheltered us so sweetly will soon give way to another set, from whose warm interior our family's laughter, joy, and hope for our future will soon pour.

Weekly Update

Here is the weekly update we've just received on our short-sale process:  "The file is still in prescreening waiting to be reviewed by a processor before moving onto a negotiator."

Tick-tock.  Tick-tock. 

I can hear it.  I'm sure the buyers can hear it, too.  It doesn't appear, however, that the bank can hear it.

What the heck?!

The ever-informative weekly update from the negotiator just showed up a few moments ago in my e-mail inbox:

     "...the file is in the prescreening phase and it could wait to be fully reviewed there for up to 60 days before moving on to a processor. "

Prescreening phase????  I have pretty much no idea what this means.  At first read it appears to me that it could be another 60 days before the bank actually looks at the file to start the process of valuing the property, counter-offering, rejecting the whole thing, etc.  By that point, the purchase and sale agreement will have expired, and the buyers, if they have grown tired of the wait, could very easliy be moved on to the next deal.


So who knows.  At the very least it's looking more likely that we'll get another Christmas in the house.  It'll be a bitter sweet one, though.

Hear Ye, Hear Ye!

It's official.  The house is now in the foreclosure process.  The sitter called me today to let me know that she found The Packet of papers taped with the signature blue tape on our door when she went to take the little ones to the store.  I thought I'd be more... I don't know, upset. But I'm not. 

I'm almost relieved. Now we have an idea of how much longer we have.  This doesn't mean that the short-sale process is done and over.  The bank has different departments that handle the two issues (of course), and whomever gets their job done first, well, wins.  In theory they should be communicating with each other and delay foreclosure/auction if the short-sale is close to closing, but that's expecting a lot out of a fairly inefficient system.  So, legally the soonest we could be forced out, if the short-sale doesn't go through, is early March.  The papers today are the beginning of the end.  The bank can sell the house at auction 120 days from today, and then we'll have 20 days after that to leave.  Here's hoping the short-sale people win the race to the finish line!

Weekly Update

The bank has now officially activated our file. They are also requiring that we fill out all of the financial paperwork again on different forms, and continue to redo and resubmit these forms every 30 days until we close.  Ugh.  Looks like I know how I'm spending a good chunk of my weekends for the next few months.  But at least it's movement, right?  The offer came in one month ago yesterday, so it only took 30 days for them to pick up the file and tell us that it's not the "right" file.

On a positive note, the house for sale next door to us, the same floor plan, finally closed!  It was also a short-sale (what isn't in my area, right now....) and the buyers put the offer in the first week of June, taking 4 1/2 months to close.  It wasn't with the same bank, so it's not a direct comparison, nor do I know how short the sellers were.  Sort of comparing apples to pears, I guess.  The positive for us is that we have a solid, recently-closed comparable property for when the bank requests the BPO.  BPO is when they hire independent, local agents to recommend fair-market value for the house.  Having an almost exact property comparison that has recently closed at a very similar amount to the buyer's offer will help greatly with that process. 

Keep praying, crossing your fingers, or knocking on wood - whatever gets your goat - that the process moves smoothly from here on out (and that we don't find ourselves having to move the week of Christmas.....).

Weekly Update

To handle the labor-intensive negotiations with the bank we are using a Loss Mitigation branch of a local law firm.  They get the joy of sitting on the phone, dealing with the ineptness of the (at best) overworked or (at worse) brainless cogs on the other end of the line, faxing and re-faxing documents, and overall handling the more annoying and stressful details of getting this process brought to a close. They tell us what they need from us, we provide it and they play the games with the bank.  They e-mail us updates on their activity and conversations weekly.

Last week the update was something like this: the bank has acknowledged receiving our short-sale package and will be processing it on "priority" status due to the fact that we are already so far into default.  It is a Fannie Mae backed loan, and supposedly FMae is not delaying the foreclosure process as they have been doing.

Update today is something like this: the bank has acknowledged receiving our short-sale package, but has done nothing with it.  Not even entered it into the system, or "activated" it,  so that it can be flagged as priority.  Supposedly an e-mail has been sent from whomever the negotiator was speaking with over to the appropriate department requesting our file be activated.

Nearly one month has past since we received the offer, and the games have truly begun.

The Path to Now, Part 4

To recap, from January 2008 through early January 2009 where I ended the last post in this series:

1. We made the difficult decision to close our floundering general contracting company,
2. Mr. Four Walls took a job at roughly 40% of what he had made through our business,
3. I took a job outside the home to help make up some of the difference (nowhere near all of it, though),
4. Mr. Four Walls' mom moved in with us to watch the kids (then 3 & 5),
5. Mr. Four Walls was "temporarily" laid off (estimated to last 2 weeks, actually lasted 9), and
6. Surprise, I got pregnant with an IUD firmly in place while Mr. Four Walls was unemployed and we were uninsured.

Whew, that was a whirlwind of a year!  But wait there's more......

My pregnancy went fairly smoothly, all things considered.  Our second daughter had been born with no warning at 32 weeks, and had spent 3 weeks in the NICU (not bad at all for how early she was....) .  Even without that history, the fact that I conceived with an IUD brought along it's own issues.  Throw in the lack of insurance, and I was really overwhelmed.  We made it through a very surreal first few weeks following my first pregnancy test - first told I wasn't actually pregnant, then told I was but that I would have to terminate , and then finally told that there was absolutely nothing abnormal about the pregnancy - and quickly we were able to get some health insurance in place for me.  Thankfully, we were within 30 days of Mr. Four Walls being dropped from his employer's coverage, so there wasn't a huge issue getting the pregnancy covered.

We then turned toward the future and what this baby would mean for it.  I had been at my job for right at a year, and I had no idea how they would handle our news.  The company is over 40 years old, but they've never, not one time, had to deal with a pregnant employee.  That's mainly because it's so small and has mostly employed men and only a few women, most of whom were already past their baby-making years when they started working there.  We navigated through, and we were incredibly blessed by my employer.  I was given some paid leave, followed by the opportunity to bring the baby with me when I returned.  It meant that I had to return much sooner than I would have liked, right at 6 weeks, but that was their offer and as I knew I needed the job, I took it.

Against the odds, our little Peanut made her entrance on her due date, September 26th, 2009 at 4:04 in the afternoon, about three hours after my water broke.  This was despite the fact that I had been in preterm/early labor since 31 weeks, with contractions coming every 10-20 minutes for roughly 2 months, with relatively few breaks.  I worked up until the end of the day Friday, the 25th, and went home figuring that if the baby didn't come, I'd be back Monday morning.  She was born on Saturday.  I started my maternity leave that Monday knowing that I had only a few months before we would have to face the big issue of how in the world we would afford childcare for her once I could no longer bring her with me to the office. 

I prayed A LOT, doing my best to trust that since God had blessed us with this baby, he'd bless us with a way to provide for her.  But it was scary.  We were already on the edge financially, since combined we were making so much less than we had been when we bought the house.  Throw in all of the weeks of unemployment, the extra medical bills, and our commitment to eliminating our debts when things had seemed stable through most of 2008, and our savings was dwindling quickly.  So while I trusted He'd provide, I knew deep down that it might not be in the miraculous, cash-falling-from-the-sky-way that we so often hope for when funds are low.  Some may take this as a lack of faith, but I call it realism.  I accept and wholeheartedly believe that big miracles can and do happen, but that more often than not God will simply nudge us in a direction and wait for us to take the steps.

Separation Anxiety

Our sweet little Peanut has turned one year old.  The Four Walls household is now officially leaving the snugly newborn-baby years behind with this momentous mark for our last child, and forging full-speed ahead into toddler-dom one last time.  First steps, imitation, and temper tantrums are the on the daily menu at Chez Four Walls, and we love every minute of it.  Separation anxiety, on the other hand, not so much.  I don't mean it hasn't taken up residence, because believe me, it has.  What I mean is that we're not loving this stage.  And by we, I mean me.

Peanut is a Daddy's Girl. Mr. Four Walls is her world, and has been pretty much since birth.  Even when I was her sole source of sustenance in those first few milky-months, she tolerated me to attend to the task of nourishing herself, and then wanted....Daddy.  This is such a turnabout from the older girls who, while they certainly loved and bonded with their Dad, searched me out for all of their needs.  It was me they wanted in the middle of the night, and when they were in an unfamiliar place they scanned for me.  Neither of them went through a particularly painful phase of getting anxious at my leaving or being out of sight, but they were definitely happier to have me close.  Peanut?  Not so much. 

Don't get me wrong.  Her eyes do light up when I come home, and she does seem to enjoy when I swoop her up and breathe her in after a long day apart. That is, unless she knows Mr. Four Walls is home.  The child seems to have a sixth sense of knowing when he is present before she can see or hear him, and know matter who or what she was engaged with, when she senses him, she has to have him.  Right. Now.  God forbid he come into the house and need to use the restroom or wash his hands before he gets to her.  Lord help us all if, after greeting her and the rest of the family, he retreats to the shower to clean away the days worth of dirt and grime he usually wears home.  After over eight years of fatherhood, he is finally perfecting the art of the ultra-fast shower.  Even from the other end of the house, even over the sound of the shower, he can hear her mournful cries of "Da-daaaaa.  Da-daaaaa." 

She'll settle down a bit for me or whomever is holding her, but unless she's sure he has left for good (and sometimes it'll continue even then) she struggles to hold back the crocodile tears.  Periodic, questioning "Da-da"s pass through her sweet, quivering, pouting lips.  And I'm jealous. 

I'm away from her so much.  On a good day I spend 120 waking minutes with her, and many days it's less.  Yes, it is wonderful that she has such a strong bond with her Dad, and I would never want anything less for them.  And, yes, I know that she and I have just as strong of a bond, even if it's not as visible at this stage of the game.  And yes, I know that they go through phases, this too shall pass, and yada, yada, yada.  The mature, rational, experienced mother in me gets it and is grateful.  However, the slightly selfish, overworked, exhausted, tired-of-being-a-working mother wants her baby to want me as much as she wants her "Da-daaaaa."  It hurts when I get home and try to give her a kiss only to have her push me away as she snuggles into Daddy.  It hurts when she screams and claws back to him when I try to embrace her.  It hurts that my presence and embrace has only 1/16th of the calming effect of simply having her father sitting next to her.

So, I think we're both experiencing a bit of separation anxiety:  her from her father, and I from her.  I look back at how insanely fast this past year has evaporated, and I'm sad.  While working and commuting, I've missed so many precious giggles and smiles, tears and tunny-aches.  Yes, it was for a good reason - food and shelter are good reasons, I suppose. 

In this period of transition, as we separate ourselves from our once believed-to-be-forever-home, I'm anxious to move forward.  Forward toward the day when I get to spend more than 120 rushed minutes with my kids.  Forward toward the day when I will be able to answer the always asked question of "So, do you know where you're moving?"  Forward toward the day of her maturing enough to recognize that even we she can't see him, her Daddy is there, loving her and protecting her.  That's a reminder that I need sometimes, too.  Silly Separation Anxiety.

The Lord is near.  Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.

-Philippians 4:6 (NIV)

Who, What, When, Where, How, and Why?

Up until this point we've avoided answering The Question: "Where do we go from here?"  We've been so focused on getting through the storm that we haven't been able to think about a day when are ARE actually through it.  With an offer in hand and agreed upon, ready to go to the lawyers tomorrow to begin the negotiations with the bank, it's time for us to think about our next step more than in the hypothetical sense.  This is when it gets real.  This is when we have to decide if we're going to continue to have two full-time working parents, and if not, who's quitting and finding an evening/weekend job to make ends meet without forking out more for childcare than we expect to pay for rent monthly.  This is when we have to decide if we're going to stay in our beloved town, close to the neighbors and friends that have become such a bedrock for our daily lives, or if we are going to move somewhere cheaper and/or closer to my office (assuming I stay working full-time) to save on time and commuting expenses.  This is when we have to decide if having those ties close to us is more important than reducing my stress-level as a mom and as a commuter, if good friends and good schools are more important than an extra 60-90 minutes a day spent out of a car.  This is when we have to decide if we're going to ride out this process to the last possible moment in our beloved home, leaving only when the closing date looms large and near, or if we're going to get ahead of the tide and set-out to create a new beloved, albeit rented, home, even if it means walking away from living rent-free for another month, or even several months.  This is when we have to decide what else to cut from our already slashed budget to make ends meet as we move from shaky to solid ground again.

This is when we have to start asking and answering all of the hard questions.  Thankfully, we realize that our decisions aren't set in stone.  If we make a move in one direction, and we find it is the wrong path, we can correct it.  However, some decisions, like what rental we choose, are easier undone than other decisions, like one of us quitting our relatively good jobs.  When the lease is up on a rental we dislike, we can move.  Annoying, but not life-altering.  Giving up on jobs that do offer somewhat stable incomes and benefits -  not so easy to walk away from in this economy.  Even so, my heart cries out to be home more with my kids, finances be damned...which they would be should I quit. (sigh) Questions, questions, questions.

Day 113 - A Light at the end of the tunnel...maybe

113 Days on the market.  That's a lot of days to be in "show the house at any moment" mode, especially with three young kids and two full-time working, commuting parents.  Exhausting.  Tiring. Annoying.  But it has apparently paid off.  Yesterday afternoon we received an offer!  I know nothing about the potential buyers except that they looked at the house twice last week (2 of 5 showings in 7 days last week!).  The offer is pretty good - not top-notch - but good, and let's face it: beggars can't be choosers, right?  We counter-offered today, mainly regarding which appliances we will leave (they want all, we want to take all but the stove and the dishwasher).  I'm sure we can come to an agreement, though.  So now the real fun and hard work begins: getting the bank to accept the offer.

I feel like I should take a few moments to better explain the short-sale process, because through-out this journey I've learned that many people don't really understand what the term "short-sale" really means.  Some people actually think it means that the home-selling process is stream-lined, or shortened, and that couldn't be farther from the truth!  I'm not an attorney or real-estate agent, but this is my take on all of the reading, consulting and interviewing agents and attorneys, and other research I have done over the past few months.  (Obviously, if you're looking for hard and fast, complete and legally accurate information, I should not be your source. :)  Talk to a real estate attorney and/or a knowledgeable Realtor for specific information.)

A short-sale is when the seller is short on funds to close the sale because the amount for which they can sell the home is less than the amount outstanding on their mortgage or mortgages, if more than one lender, and they lack the necessary capital to pay off the balance remaining.  Generally speaking, a seller has to be delinquent on their mortgage payments in order for the bank to consider a short-sale approval, and they have to have experienced a substantial change in their lives that make it difficult or impossible for them to fulfill their obligation to the bank.  There are exceptions to this, of course, but they are not common.  At this point we are coming up on 120 days past-due and the offer we have received is for approximately $105,000 less than our mortgage balance.  Since we don't have that kind of money laying around (if we did, we'd pay the mortgage - duh!), we must submit the offer to the bank and wait for them to respond in one of the following ways:

1.) take the offer as payment in full for our debt, forgiving the balance,
2.) take the offer as partial payment for our debt, reduce the balance remaining (forgiving a portion), and allow us to sign an unsecured note for difference, or
3.) reject the offer which would require us to either secure funding elsewhere to pay off the balance, to allow the home to go into foreclosure, or continue to solicit offers on the property in the hopes that one will come in to the banks liking before they get around to foreclosing.

There is an option #4, I suppose, in that the bank can counter-offer the buyer's offer, and let the buyer decide if they will accept the new purchase price; then the process would proceed with the options above.  There are a lot of things that come into play in determining which way the bank will go, such as the amount they project they'd have to pay in fees to foreclose, time the home has been on the market, the balance remaining, and the local laws concerning their options for recourse on the loan.  This last point is very important for us since we live in WA, which is what is often referred to as a "non-recourse" state.  What this means is that the laws fall generally in favor of the seller not having to pay the balance above what a lender is able to recover from selling the property at auction or on the market following foreclosure.  What that really means for us is that if the bank will not do option #1 above when they respond to the offer, then we are better off - credit hit aside - to allow the home to go into foreclosure.  Again, this is not always the case, but in general it's how it works, and it is how our attorney has advised us to proceed should the bank be unwilling to forgive the balance of the mortgage.

How long does this take, you might ask?  That is the $64,000 question, and it is entirely dependent upon the bank.  Our buyer has given us 90 days to get a response from the bank.  If the bank does not respond in that time, they can walk away from the deal.  According to the attorney with whom we've consulted, we should expect for the bank to take close to 90 days to respond, for them to lose the offer and/or supporting documents at least twice, and to never speak twice to the same person at the bank.  All in all, it's a messy system at best, and many banks, especially smaller entities like ours, are simply not equipped to deal with the high volume of these types of sales the housing-market crash and recession have spurred.  We're hoping for a best case scenario which would be that the bank responds favorably in about 45-60 days.  The buyer, and most banks, expect to close 30 days after the bank approves an offer.  On the short end of the spectrum we could be closing sometime in November or December (Happy Holidays...).  It's also not uncommon for this to drag out 6, 8, 10 months if the bank really drags it out and if buyer is willing to stick around that long.  Realistically, we're probably looking at closing sometime in January or February. 

So thank you for your prayers and support as we've worked through the insanity of the last four months to get to this point.  Keep it coming, because that was the easy part, and we need it more now than ever.  We're not out of the woods yet.  Now....we wait some more.

The Path to Now, Part 3

Continued from The Path to Now, Parts 1 & 2

The spring, summer, and early fall of 2008 passed fairly uneventfully.  We were adjusting to being a two-working-parent household and having Mr. Four Walls' mom live with us, but financially we had stabilized.  Don't get me wrong, it was tight, but it was doable.  We we're making it, and had started in earnest to attack our credit card debt that had been hanging around so long it was almost a family pet.  I downsized my car from the requisite Mom-mobile to a four-door compact to account for the long commutes and high-price of gas (that was the summer of $4+ per gallon of gas), as well as lowering the payment over $100 a month and reducing the insurance.  Mr. Four Walls was working steadily, and we both received much-needed raises from our starting salaries. We knew eventually we should sell the house and down-size our expenses, but for the time-being we could make it, hoping to ride it out until values recovered a bit and we could break even.  We weren't out of the woods, but we thought we were navigating through them, and every once in a while we caught glimpses of the pasture beyond.  Then the season turned.

Mid-fall, I began not to feel well.  It was more than just a cold, but we were so busy that I ignored it as much as I could.  One morning in early December I woke up with a racing heart beat, and I couldn't ignore it any longer.  It was a horrible feeling, like I had just ran a mile at full-speed hopped up on caffiene, but I had been asleep.  The closest to feeling like that I had ever come before was when they had tried to stop my pre-term labor with Miss Florida, and the medication was horrible.  Every few heart-beats my heart would jump, and then pause, and then jump.  It was so scary.  Mr. Four Walls took me to the ER, and thankfully we discovered that it was only a reaction to receiving a slightly incorrect dosage of medication for a different chronic condition that I've had for years.  Very manageable and treatable, but it wiped me out for a couple of weeks, not to mention added the extra expenses of a trip to the ER and all the follow-up visits.  Right about the time I started to feel a bit better, the huge snowstorm hit, leaving Mr. Four Walls essentially out of work.  On top of that, he told me he wasn't sure but he thought he might be laid-off in the near future, and the week of Christmas he was.  Merry Christmas, right?

All contractors in our area were, and are, still struggling to keep the work lined up, so it wasn't a complete surprise.  They told him they expected to have another project for him just after the 1st of the year, so we resigned ourselves to the fact that Mr. Four Walls was taking an extended, unpaid holiday break.  Not wanted, but not the end of the world.  Two weeks turned into three, and then to four.  I again started to feel really tired and "off," but knew that it wasn't my medication. I started trying to remember the last time I had been visited by my favorite aunt.  I knew I had seen her in November, but could not recall for the life of me having a visit in December.  Mr. Four Walls swore I had, and I believed him, chalking my lack of recall up to me being sick and barely functioning for the first half of December.  By mid-January, however, I knew something was brewing.  As I awoke the Saturday of MLK weekend I rolled over onto my stomach and about leapt out of bed in pain.  I looked at Mr. Four Walls as he stood at the sink brushing his teeth.

"You have to go buy me a pregnancy test.  Now."

He stood there looking at me like I was crazy.  I had a Copper IUD, the statistically most effective form of birth control on the market, and in 5 years we had never had this issue.  Even so, I made him go to the store right then and there, and he, being the loving and obedient husband he is, went without a fight.  As he handed me the tests (a 2-pack - wise man) on my way into the bathroom, he told me I was crazy.  Three minutes later....

....I knew nothing.  The stupid test didn't work!  Not even the control window registered anything. I got up and started the day, doing the usual Saturday morning chores and biding my time until I had to...um... pee.  Mr. Four Walls still thought I was completely crazy and didn't even bother to come upstairs to our bedroom with me when I told him I was heading up to take the other test.  Three minutes later....

....a faint positive.  Very faint but definitely there.  Alone, I sat on the edge of the tub for a few minutes, forcing myself to breathe in and out as I stared at the double line on the stick.  I was so worried about how Mr. Four Walls would react.  I was scared of another pregnancy.  Obviously, it was not the best time for us financially, but my bigger concern had to do with how my previous pregnancy had ended: in a NICU with a teeny baby born at 32 weeks.  The thoughts, fears, and questions flooded over me.  How could we afford this baby?  I hadn't even been at my job for a year.  How would they react?  Could I even carry this baby since I still had the IUD?  32 weeks is borderline for positive outcomes in the NICU.  What if this one came sooner?  It felt like I sat there forever.  I was so shocked I didn't cry, just stared and tried to catch up to my racing mind.  Finally, I called out downstairs and asked Mr. Four Walls to join me.

I was shaking, at least on the inside, as he came through the door.  He had made it no secret that he wanted to be done with babies after our second was born, but had held off making it permanent to respect my wishes that we wait a few years to be sure.  I had left the test sitting on the side of the tub, and asked him to go look at it while I sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for his reaction.  He picked it up and stared at it in silence for a few seconds.  I walked over to stand next to him.

"So two lines means you are, right?"

"Yes."

Silent pause.

He turned to me, wrapped his arms around my waist, smiled and said, "Ah, crap."  I have never laughed so hard in my life! I kissed him and thanked him for being so kind.  Then we truly began the steep descent toward losing the house, together.

I'll continue The Path to Now in yet another entry.

MIA at 90+ days on market

Wow, it's been awhile since I posted.  Life has just taken over, and I haven't had much time to sit and compose.  The back-to-school rush coupled with lining up new childcare arrangements for all three kids, on top of a pretty heavy work-load at the office and seasonally-expected lengthening evening commutes have worked against me in the free-time department.  I apologize if you've been looking for an update, and I've been MIA.

So, where are we on the house, you ask?  Right where we were at the time of my last post, for all intents and purposes.  The last week of August and the first week of September were good for showing volume, about a half dozen in a 12 day period, I think,  but not much else.  We even had our first "no-notice" showing a couple of Saturdays ago.  That was fun, and I'm very thankful that I wasn't in the shower when the agents and their clients decided to walk into the house!  We again, for the third time I believe, thought we had someone ready to make an offer, but they have disappeared.  It's probably for the best, since I highly doubt the bank would have taken their low-ball offer, and they were going to offer the max for which they were approved.  It probably would have been a waste of their time, but it also would have gotten the process started at the bank for us, and given us an idea of how much of a hit the bank is willing to take.  We've been told they won't pre-approve a short sale, so we have no idea where they stand until we get an offer.  If we get an offer....

Nothing New

Still here, hanging out, waiting...No more showings since those last Monday, and nothing to report from them.  The housing reports came out today and told everyone what we're already experiencing first hand....no one is buying.  It's a vicious cycle we're caught in, isn't it?  The prices have fallen, largely because they were inflated in the first place.  Those buyers that can qualify, a smaller pool than in years past due to the large number of job losses and tighter lending requirements, aren't making any moves but instead are waiting for the prices to drop further.  Which they will if no one buys.  Which then makes it even harder for us homeowners in a tight spot to gain some traction and recover from the job losses and deep losses in equity.  Which then slows down the large scale economic recovery as we continue to live on bread and water and not much else, pinching pennies and waiting for things to improve to give us some more wiggle room in the budget.  So nothing new to report.  Still waiting.....

Showings

This is a record, I think.  We had two showings late last week, and now today I've had two phone calls to schedule showings for today. If they all show (note to real estate agents: if you call and say you're going to show, then call to say that you're not going to show if plans change.  Seriously!), this will be 4 showings in 4 days, but none over the weekend.  I'm really trying not to get my hopes up, though.  I learned pretty early on to expect them to pass;  so much so that I'm not sure how I'll react if and when we actually do get an offer.  We're quickly approaching 90 days on the market.  In all honestly, given the current state of the real estate market, that's not that bad.  However, every day, every week, every month that goes by brings us one day, one week, one month closer to the "f' word: foreclosure.  I'd really like to avoid that scarlet letter......

But Who's Counting?

Stats on the last 48 hours in the Zahn Home:

Diapers changed: About 16... I lost track, though.
Lullabies sang: 6
Stores visited: 8
Stores visited twice: 3
Bags of school clothes, shoes, and supplies emptied on the family room floor for divvying: 5
Returns to be made due to high-maintenance oldest children changing their minds on the the shoes that they "had" to have: 1 (although this is sure to rise, as only 1 child actually got a pair of shoes this weekend....)
Round trips to my mother's: 2
Combined miles driven: 190 (!!!!!)
11th Wedding Anniversary dinner of cheap Chinese takeout...shared with a hot, cranky baby: 1
Loads of laundry washed and dried: 5
Loads of laundry folded: 0
Chapters read from Ramona the Pest: 2
Dried Cheerios scraped from the kitchen floor: only 3, amazingly!
Sweet family dog moved to live with Nana for more nurturing than we can provide: 1
Sad little girls at the realization of above: 2
Degrees in my house at 6 p.m. his evening: 87
Degrees in my house right now at nearly 10 p.m.: 80
Temp reading on my dashboard along I-5 at about 5:00 this afternoon: 100
Temperature difference between today and this day 11 years ago: about 35-40
Number and location of AC units in our house: 1, in my bedroom
Number of children crashed in my bed, relishing in the coolness from said AC unit: 2
Showings on the house: 0
Seconds my blinks are lasting as I try to compose this message: 4.2
Hours until I get to get up and do it all again, plus some: 7

...but who's counting?

Venting

Just had another looker on the house.  It's the 4th weekend in a row that we've had to clear out for a showing, which I suppose is a good thing.  I have no idea what they thought about the place, and the fact that they left the back gate open, letting the dog run the neighborhood, is the only reason we know they even showed.  The agent didn't leave a card, so probably not a good sign.  Part of me wants to start asking every agent that calls if their clients are aware this is a short-sale and if they've fully explained what that means BEFORE they waste our time, interrupting our meals or baby's nap time.  But that would be rude, so I'll keep my mouth shut and be as accommodating as possible.

The past two weeks have been....long.  And hard.  We've both been incredibly busy at work, which is good except that it's leaving us wiped out and grumpy in the evenings.  We're hitting crunch time in deciding on and finalizing our plans for childcare this school year, and the more numbers we crunch the less they add up.  Praying for direction and resolution a lot, and I know we have some great prayer warriors in our corner, too, but a lot of days lately we're just not feeling it.  We're starting to nit-pick at each other of the littlest things, as the stress of our situation continues to wear us out.  And if I have one more person say to me, "It'll all work out.  Don't stress over it," I think I'll have a breakdown right then and there.  Let's please put that on the top of the list of things not to say to someone in a stressful situation, particularly if you yourself have not experienced it.  It's like telling someone that just stubbed their toe that it doesn't hurt.  Show empathy, sympathy, listen, ask what you can do to help, tell me you wish you could help, but don't belittle our feelings or the gravity of our situation by telling us not to worry.  It's not even that we are worried, because I don't think that's the appropriate term for our current emotional state.  We're frustrated.  We're tired.  We're ready to move on, to move our family from this puddle of dry quick-sand that is about to get drenched.  The only thing worse than those words are the people who now avoid us altogether, as if our inability to pay our bills is an infectious disease that they might catch by associating with us.  Grrrrr!!!!!!!!!!

Wow.  Guess I needed to vent a little.  Thanks for reading, and I promise I'll try to be nicer in my next entry.  Maybe.

The Atlantis of Home Values

We started this past week on a high note.  Last Sunday morning our agent called.  He had someone contact him to see the home, and they wanted to come by just after lunch that day.  I really didn't think they were a serious buyer since they called after driving by; they didn't have their own agent.  Of course, I let them see the house.  We did some cleaning and cleared out to take a walk through the neighborhood and to play at the park, figuring they'd be in and out in about 20-30 minutes.  Over an hour later, after circling the block several times, we finally saw our agent leave the driveway,  allowing us to head home with three worn out little girls.  Not much later, we were given a run-down on the potential buyers and on what seemed to be a stellar showing.  Their living and financial situations as they presented them seemed perfectly suited to wait out the process of purchasing a short-sale.  They wanted to return that day or the next to take a second look.  In fact, about an hour later we received another call, requesting access at 5 p.m. that evening.  Once again, we cleaned up and cleared out, grabbing some fast-food for dinner and letting the kids run free at yet another park.  Again, it was well over an hour before our agent called with the "all clear."  And again, he indicated that they were seriously interested.  They wanted to take the evening to talk it over, and would get back to our agent on Monday.  So we went home to wait and to start our week, finally feeling good, hopeful that we would have an offer to present to the bank this week. Monday morning came and went, with no call.  Monday afternoon became Monday evening, and still nothing.  Tuesday morning I e-mailed our agent to ask the status of his conversations with them.  He had attempted several times to call and to text them, but they had not responded to any of his calls.  So we waited some more.  We've heard nothing from them all week, indicating to us that they've moved on, for one reason or another.  As they won't return any phone calls, it's difficult to know exactly why, but I'd say it's a safe bet that they, like several others that have viewed the house, decided they want nothing to do with the short-sale process.

The house has been on the market for over 7 weeks, with relatively few showings.  We dropped the price substantially, about $30,000, just over two weeks ago in an attempt to stimulate some more interest and to bring it more in-line with comparable properties that had closed in June (prices in our area are continuing to fall, unfortunately).  Traffic definitely picked up - not hard to do, really, as we'd had only one showing in the whole month of June.  Clearly, though, the fact that the house was already bargain-priced is not enough to combat the malady of being a short-sale.  So we now drop a bit lower.  We don't really have much more room to drop after this, I'm afraid.  The house next door is also a short sale.  Same floor plan, but not quite as many extras, and it has an offer pending at just $1000 less than where we now sit on the market.  We're told by the potential buyers of that property (we know them) that the bank had pre-approved their offer price.  However, they have heard absolutely nothing from the seller or the seller's bank in the six weeks since the offer was submitted.  This is exactly the reason why so many short-sales become foreclosures: too many buyers simply refuse to deal with the long, drawn out process of waiting for the bank to even acknowledge an offer.

Now, we sit.  Our current listing price is just shy of $100,000 less than what we owe.  That's not just an underwater mortgage; our home value is Atlantis.  It used to be grand, glorious, thriving.  Then it plummeted to a depth beyond reach or repair.  At some point, I suppose that it'll return, or at least stabilize.  Unfortunately, my family won't have the privilege to be the proud explorers that will reap the beauty of that discovery. 

The Path to Now, Part 2

Continued from The Path to Now, Part 1...

By late 2007, we were seeing that work opportunities were going to be slim, and all signs were indicting that it would not be a temporary problem.  After five years of pretty much exclusively doing new construction, subcontracting for other contractors, we started looking at the possibility of expanding our focus.  We advertised and did some bidding on a couple of smallish residential remodel projects, but quickly realized that everyone and his brother were doing the same, and we could not really compete.  I had already began to look for part-time work to help deflect against the smaller income that we were already seeing; however, not many local retailers were interested in hiring at all at that point - they were feeling the beginning of the pinch, too - and those that were looking were not interested in my limited availability of evenings and weekends.  With two small kids, and no family close enough to help out, I was stuck.  Once we saw how incredibly devastating the recession - not yet labelled that, but still - was to be for us we saw that the only chance we had to get through was for me to bring in a larger income than I could working part-time.   The only problem?  Child care.

We sat late into the evening one night, crunching numbers and brain storming.  How long could we pay the bills if Mr. Four Walls was completely out of work? (A few months) How much would full-time child care cost for the girls? (A lot).  Did we have anyone that could help us with them? (Yes).  Phone calls were made, family meetings held, and shortly before Christmas it was decided that Mr. Four Walls' mother would move in with us, live rent-free, and care for the girls so I could work.  She agreed to doing this for two years, and as we had no clue as to what was on the horizon, we figured that was as good as anything.  We contemplated putting the house on the market right then, but didn't want to panic.  Prices were already falling, there were several houses in our neighborhood already for sale, and we figured that it would be hard to break even since we'd just moved in the year before.  Besides, if we found that we were too tight for very long we could list the house then.  Prices were bound to stabilize soon and then we could list the house if needed, right?

I began to hunt for work in earnest, and Mr. Four Walls continued to work all of his contacts to line up work for the business.  He was coming up completely empty.  We made the very difficult decision to lay off our sole employee, and Mr. Four Walls kept trying to find jobs.  It became pretty clear in the first part of January 2008, though, that nothing was coming our way for several months, and even then no one would commit to anything.  I was going on interviews, and was also selling Pampered Chef in the evenings.  One evening as I prepared to leave for a Cooking Show hosted by the wife of a friend from high school, we talked it over and decided that Mr. Four Walls should start to look for work at other companies.  As an employee, not for our business.  The discussion was quick, and I left for the show.

While chatting with my friend that evening, I mentioned our situation.  He said his dad was working for a local design/build firm and had just been mentioning that they were looking for a carpenter.  He called him right there, and Mr. Four Walls had an interview the next day.  By the end of the week he was hired.  It was a reasonable wage.  Even so, it was a substantial decrease in income compared to what we had previously made.  It became even more important for me to land something full-time.  The last week of January I was offered my current position as an administrative assistant/bookkeeper, and so began my journey as a full time working mother, commuting 80 miles a day.  Combined we were still making quite a bit less than we did before, but in the next few months we could see that we were going to make it work, at least for a couple for years.   By then, we figured, things were bound to have improved in the housing market.  We planned to then either sell the house or go back into business for ourselves, or even both. 

Overall, we were feeling positive about how we were landing.  It was going more smoothly than we expected having Mr. Four Walls' mom live with us. We both settled in pretty quickly with our new jobs and liked the positions and those with whom we worked. That's not to say that life was not without it's challenges, especially for me. I struggled emotionally with leaving the kids.  I'd never really been away from them on a regular basis.  I mourned having to give up working in Jellybean's kindergarten class, and the special time that I had with Miss Florida on Jellybean's school days, when it was just the two of us - a rarity for a second child.  The girls adjusted, but they both had their struggles, too, and to this day still cry sometimes about me having to go to work. 

I never wanted to be a working mom, full-time at least.  I had a working mom, a wonderful mom, growing up - but I could see the struggle and how thinly she was stretched,  and I wanted more for myself and for my own kids.  I never had the desire to be the super-mom shown on the t.v. shows of my childhood: Family Ties, The Cosby Show, Who's the Boss.  Even as a child, all I could see when I watched those funny, smart, articulate women was how much they were missing with their kids.  However, finances dictated that I work, as they had dictated that my mother work (oddly enough I was five when she went to work full-time, and Amelia was five when I went to work full-time...strange...).  So I prayed and sucked it up, waiting for God to step in and make it all better.  I'm still waiting on that.

I'll continue to tell of The Path to Now in yet another entry.

Unanswered Prayers

After a lot of prayer and discussion with Mr. Four Walls regarding our impending lack of childcare, I asked my boss this week if I could work a "flexible" schedule;  I proposed starting earlier, leaving earlier, and working a couple of Saturdays to make up the difference.  Mr. Four Walls would handle the mornings, hopefully with the help of a neighbor or college student so he could get out the door at reasonable hours, and I would be home in time to get the older kids off the bus.  The baby would still go to daycare (somewhere?),  but would have to be there for a shorter period.  My proposal didn't go so well, I'm afraid.  While I haven't been officially turned down, it's not looking good for my vision of less-chaotic afternoon commutes followed by helping with homework, starting dinner before it should actually be on the table, and maybe - just maybe - getting the girls back into some activities once finances stabilize a bit more. 

I suppose this post doesn't actually have to do with the house, on which there has been absolutely zero activity in the last 7 days.  However, as the catalyst for me making the request was an effort to reduce childcare expenses so that once we are through this nerve-racking process we might stand a chance of being able to balance our budget, I guess that does have a bit to do with the house.  Once I started writing up my proposal for how I saw my alternative schedule working and ways to remedy the potential pit-falls, it became more than a money saving move: it became a mommy-saving move.  After 2 1/2 years of being gone nearly 11 hours a day for my commute and work, it's not getting any easier. In fact, adding the baby to the mix (completely unplanned, for those that aren't familiar with that story...another post for another day), this chaotic, Monday through Friday, all day, everyday schedule has about driven me batty.  

But for now I have to remember that unanswered prayers are unanswered for a reason.....and accept that the bats in the belfry are getting pretty cozy.

The Path to Now, Part 1

Life was great in the summer of 2006, when we purchased this house.  We had two adorable, healthy little girls, and Mr. Four Walls and I were each doing exactly what we felt we were supposed to be doing: running his framing company - him on the job-site and me doing the paperwork from home - and me being a stay-at-home-mom.  I've shared in another post about selling our last house very quickly and finding this one - The One - that same day.  We moved in towards the end of August 2006, and quickly settled in.  The neighbors were warm and welcoming. Jellybean (our oldest) loved her new preschool, and I began to forge what have become some of my most important friendships with some of the other moms.  Mr. Four Walls' framing company was booming, and we couldn't get the jobs done fast enough to move onto the next.  Financially, it was an adjustment tripling our mortgage; we had less fun-money (that we should have been doing more with than having fun...), but we were having no problem making ends meet.  We were even building up a fairly good emergency fund (and that has definitely come in handy over the past couple of years, even if it's gone now...).  We knew when we bought this house that we were going to the outer-edge of our comfort level, budget-wise, but it was only 3 years at that point until Miss Florida (then our youngest) was to start school full-time and then I'd be freed up to work more than just part-time, on Mr. Four Walls' company or for someone else. Wise?  Maybe not, but also not out of the norm for families looking for a "forever" home in a great neighborhood with a good school district.

The first signs that life was starting to change began in the spring of 2007, about 9 months after we moved in.  The housing market started to slow, just a bit.  Not enough to cause great worry, but we could see that we were going to have to tighten our belts a bit more to ride out what seemed at the time to be a slight slow-down in the pace that the builders were wanting us to build their houses.  Not a big deal, really.  Then in September 2007, the brakes started grinding, and we could tell that the winds of change were blowing.  Builders were suddenly pressing pause on entire developments, and lots that had previously been "ours" to frame on were being put on the back-burner.  The home builders were beginning to feel the first blow of the now-notorious "credit-crunch," and we felt it right along with them.  The urgency from the builders for us to get done to move onto the next home was not there, but we were still working...for the time being.....

I'll continue "The Path to Now" in an upcoming entry.

Ring Around the Rosie...We All Fall Down

I loved to spin when I was a child.  Around, and around, and around I'd twirl until that intoxicating dizziness over took me and I couldn't stand any longer, until I tumbled to the ground in a fit of breathless laughter. Growing up, our neighbor's yard was perfect for it: a large, level, grassy space that allowed several of us kids to claim our own space, stretch out our arms, and take flight.  It's a memory so vivid that all I need to do is close my eyes and I'm back there, barefoot, soft grass beneath my feet, twirling, twirling, twirling in my own personal tilt-a-whirl.  I can hear the other kids laughing.  I can hear the dogs barking two houses down, mad that they can't come join in our fun.  I can smell the freshness the summer grass, and I can hear the cars as they brake approaching the stop-light on the busy avenue a block over.  I can feel the tickling of the blades of grass on my neck as I lay on the lawn, the world continuing to spin around me, watching the the wispy, summer clouds dance above me as if I were peering up into the bottom of a centrifuge, and I alone was the sole still object in a twirling, tumbling world.  Sometimes we'd all join hands and play Ring-Around-the-Rosie, going faster and faster and faster until we couldn't get to the last line of the rhyme before tumbling down into a jumbled heap of knobby knees and grass-stained elbows.  It was pure, innocent, untainted joy (historical meaning of the nursery rhyme aside, of course).

I sat down this evening to begin to detail more of the journey that brought us to this point of having to give up on this house. For some reason, though, that memory is so strongly on my mind.  The memory of spinning, laughing, tumbling, and breathing in the evening summer air so deeply that I thought I'd burst, is now bursting out of me.  Maybe it's the fact that summer has finally arrived in the Pacific Northwest after an historically cold, wet spring, or that I spent the last week playing on the banks of the Wenatchee River, taking a much-needed break away with my family and doing my best to forget about the chaos and the sadness and the noise that has so dominated my life lately.  I suppose I'm simply grasping for those sweet moments to immerse myself into. 

Moments like last Saturday, on our last full day of our get-away.  We were walking back to the condo, electing to take the river-front trail instead of the paved paths and sidewalks through town.  We came across a sliver of a beach where the swift waters of the river slowed into a gentle, calm pool.  The kids could not resist and within minutes had inched themselves into the water up to their waists, fully clothed.  As I sat on a log and watched Jellybean give Miss Florida a lesson in the art of making the perfect mud ball (and I mean a lesson, as she declared it to be her classroom with Miss Florida as her student, and then proceeded for 30 minutes to give the best hands-on lecture I've ever experienced) I remembered for the first time in a long time what it was like to just "be."  That feeling that, even though the world is spinning seemingly out of control around you, you can be perfectly still and untouched by the gyrating chaos. 

Those are the moments when I can really see and feel and hear God. They are the moments that I have to retreat to when the spinning, earthly realities of circumstance and responsibility threaten to and often succeed in throwing me to the ground.  It's in these moments, dizzily sprawled out on the grass or lazily sitting on the edge of a rushing river, that I remember that the point of our childhood spinning and Ring-Around-the-Rosie-ing is to fall down.  We realize from a very young age - and begin to forget some point in adolescence - that we can't keep spinning forever, no matter how much fun it is at first, and we find joy and relief and such beauty in the falling and landing.

I've always been so afraid of failure and of tripping up, of falling, that I have a hard time stopping my twirling, or worse yet, even starting to spin in the first place. I've realized now that we've been spinning and spinning and spinning, long past when it was fun, or exciting, or healthy, and we need to fall down to have a chance to recognize the joy and relief of being still.  Even more, just knowing that I'm finally falling, falling down, even if I haven't felt the sweet cradle of the summery lawn beneath me yet, brings it's own relief.

I am the Scarecrow! (Confessions of a stressed out, working mom.)

So, I've pretty much determined that my head is full of straw.  I am the scarecrow from Wizard of Oz, and I so desperately wish that I had a brain. I used to have a brain, or at least something closely resembling it, rattling around up there, but no more.  A working mom (well, all moms really, but working outside the home full-time takes it to another level) seriously has to stretch to meet all of the needs and demands from those around, and sometimes - more than I'd like to admit, I fall so very short.  Don't get me wrong, I am not one that has a hard time saying, "No."  I don't like to over-commit myself or my children.  However, sometimes there isn't much of anything I can take off my plate. I simply have to take a deep breath, dig in, and ask for forgiveness when the peas begin to spill on the floor.  Often I can see the peas rolling off the plate, but other times I am so focused on some other portion that I fail to even notice that I've made a mess.  Lack of a brain. 

I'm pulled in so many different directions.  Work requires my attention, energy, and focus for 8+ hours a day, plus 30 minutes to eat.  My commute takes up another 2 1/2 total, on average, plus another 20-30 minutes picking up the kids at their various afternoon locales.  I am not one of those super-powered people that can function well on a lack of sleep, so a solid 7-8 (and more would be nice) hours of sleep is a must, even with the kiddos.  This is so true that my wonderful husband has learned that it's better for him to get up in the middle of the night when the baby wakes (thankfully, a rare occurrence now) - happy wife, happy life!  It also helps that our youngest actually prefers him to me at night, and has since day one, even when I was still nursing her.  (She has him so tight around her little pinky I'm surprised she has any circulation left in that particular appendage.)

So anyways, where was I?  Oh, 8.5 for work + 2.5 commute + .5 kid pick-up + 8 for sleep = 19.5 hours a day, gone.  4.5 hours left.  1 hour to get myself up, showered and out the door with baby in tow.  3.5 hours left. 1 hour spent on feeding the baby in the evening and cooking dinner for the rest of the gang. 2.5 hours left. 1 hour for dishes, tidying up, and planning/packing up lunches in the evenings (although I admit this is frequently completed by Mike on his way out the door in the morning). 1.5 hours left per day.  Once school resumes again, take another hour away for helping kids with homework, but for now we're on a reprieve from that, so...

...1.5 hours left per working day to spend quality time with God, to spend quality time with the kids, to spend quality time with Mike, to spend quality time with me (!), and not to mention laundry, serious cleaning, meal planning, grocery shopping, visiting with friends and extended family, and shuffling to and from kids' activities (which are nonexistent right now due to the restrictiveness of our budget).  Oh, and don't forget exercise - so not happening right now.  Is it any wonder that I look around me and always see straw scattered all around!

Confession time: I forgot to send in pictures for Jellybean's Father's Day present she was making at school this week.  And I forgot to send in her chips for her class party yesterday.  And I wasted nearly 20 minutes of mine and my boss' time yesterday searching for a file that he desperately needed that I had managed to mis-file.  And I spent nearly 25% of our grocery budget for the week on pizza last night so I didn't have to cook (and that was after having served Burger King, PB&J sandwiches, frozen pizzas, and I can't even remember what else on various nights this past week). And I was supposed to have a movie night with Mr. Four Walls last night while the older girls had their own movie night on a different T.V., but instead I fell asleep with the baby getting her to sleep.  Then when I did wake, I sleepily staggered into my own bed where I promptly went back to sleep for the rest of the night - no goodnight kisses to the other kids, no "Sorry, hon.  Can I take a raincheck?" to Mr. Four Walls. All week I stashed the unfolded laundry into the back of our closet instead of folding it, just in case someone came to see the house (which they didn't  - sigh).  All in all it's been a stellar week, if I may say so - or at least one for the record books, if a record book is kept for mothering ineptitude.

Now I'm off to set the foundation for a better week (and hopefully a restful Father's Day for Mr. Four Walls) around the Four Walls home: laundry folding, kitchen and bathroom scrubbing, HEALTHY meal planning and shopping, etc, etc, etc. I apologize to my friends and family if it has been your "pea" that has rolled from my plate, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart if you have helped me contain any of the scrumptious, green vegetables that I let roll away.  I also apologize in advance to my friends and family if they find any of my brain matter in their food or in their homes.  At least it's only straw and can be easily discarded - or fed to the neighbor's horses.

Purgatory, Dirty Underwear, Falling Ladders, and Perspective

Another week, and no lookers since those last Thursday.  Still waiting.

I'm not Catholic, so bear with me here. I know that the previous Pope declared that Purgatory does not exist.  Biblically speaking, as a Protestant Christian, I agree.  However, in this physical-realm I think that it does, in way, whenever we have to wait.  I mean really waiting,  Anxiously waiting, for something serious.  Not just when you have to be patient for the checker at Fred Meyer, or wait a month or two until you have the money to buy something you really want.  I mean Wait with a capital W, as in Waiting on test results to know if the cancer has returned, or as in Waiting to hear from the doctor if a loved one is going to pull-through the surgery.  Big Waiting. Potentially life-changing Waiting. The time when you have a house on the market is lower-case waiting....waiting for when someone will stop in for a look....waiting for when an offer will come in....waiting to see if your dear husband cleaned up the dirty underwear before he and the kids left the house this morning.  Throw into the mix that you're not trying "simply" to sell a house, but you're trying to beat the foreclosure clock and all the ramifications of that process.  In this scenario, the limbo-fires slowly begin to creep in and consume the perimeter of a barren waiting room, with my family in the center, huddled in our hard, plastic, circa-1962 airport terminal chairs. Upper-case Waiting.  Big Waiting.  Purgatory Waiting.

But not really.  See, there are days when I can really feel the heat of the flames as they hungrily lick at the foundation of my financial future.  Foreclosures are big, black marks in this credit driven society, no doubt about it.  And boy, are we waiting.  Waiting for an offer.  Waiting for the bank.  Waiting to find out when and where we'll be moving, where the kids will attend school, whether or not we'll find a place that fits in our budget and still meets our needs (and maybe a few wants).  Waiting, waiting, waiting.  God is so good, though, and always comes through to put things back in perspective for me when I start to sweat from the heat, making me stop in my anxiety-riddled tracks, reminding me that this is not purgatory. Sometimes it's in the form of a note from a friend, offering a prayer or a bit of encouragement.  Sometimes it comes from seeing the sweet smile on my baby's face as she reaches up to greet me after a long day, squealing as I lift her into the air for a long-overdue embrace.  Sometimes a ladder falls, and we get to truly experience the big Waiting. Anxious, worried, pleading, prayerful waiting as loved ones are at the hospital and we sit in our chairs, unable to impact the outcome. 

This weekend, as we passed the time relaxing and catching up with my oldest brother and his family, such an incident occurred.  Work was being done on his home.  Power tools, powered up.  Hoses and pressure washers, rolled out.  Ladders, extended.  The sun was shining, the baby was napping, and the kids were playing happily as the adults did chores and chit-chatted.  Then, shortly before noon, a crash and a scream shattered the idyllic din of laughter, power tools, and good tunes that were serving our Sunday morning soundtrack.  While moving a heavy, 40-foot extension ladder my brother's brother lost control of it (my family-tree is not included in this post as it would be too large and complicated for even a single branch to be explained...), and it came crashing down.  On. top. of. his. four. year. old. son.  Purgatory Waiting.  Mr. Four Walls saw it happening from where he was working inside the house, but couldn't get to him quickly enough.  Purgatory Waiting. He was there a split-second after the bottom rung landed squarely in the sweet child's head.  He ripped that ladder off the boy and scooped him out from under the weight.  But the damage was done.  The ladder had fallen, and it had landed on a small child, hitting him the head and pinning him to the ground. We assessed him as he cried (a wonderful sound, given the circumstances).  Relatively little blood.  Some serious goose-eggs.  Reactive pupils.  No loss of consciousness.  His dad strapped him into his car seat and whisked him to the hospital, while my sister-in-law called the boy's mother.  Purgatory Waiting.  A text: initial assessment is that he's okay, but they want to do a CAT scan.  Purgatory Waiting.  Another text: CAT scan done, waiting for results.   Purgatory Waiting.  Another text:  CAT scan done, results look good, and he can go home.  Miraculous, inexplicable, and utter relief.

A ladder fell, a miracle was granted, and I was reminded what I'm writing about.  Four walls, a roof, a door, some windows.  No more, no less.  We usually raise ladders for better reach, for better perspective.  Yesterday a ladder had to fall to give me a better perspective.  Am I still waiting in a limbo-like state?  Yes.  Will we feel some heat in the months and years ahead?  Yes.  Will I always remember how I feel today, with this better perspective?  Maybe, but I'll probably have more days when my vision is clouded over a bit.  But for today I remember, I see, that while my circumstances are conducive to big Waiting, Purgatory Waiting, there can, and will, be bigger Waits.  Scarier Waits.  More painful Waits.  Purgatory, in the traditional sense, does not exist - but falling ladders do.  Definitely helps to give me the perspective me get over the dirty underwear left on the bedroom floor.

Hug your children, and please brush up on your ladder/power-tool safety if you're doing any projects around the house this summer.

Not Amused

The house has been on the market for 7 days.  We've had one looker, and as of yesterday they were seriously considering making an offer.  Today we've heard nothing from our agent, so I can only assume that they've either decided to pass or have not yet made their decision, and I'm doing my best to not care.  It's so strange.  When our agent told us we had someone seriously interested, I was happy and devastated, all at once.  Like that mix of excitement and fear you get from riding a roller-coaster.  A roller-coaster.  I feel like I've been on a huge roller-coaster for two and a half years, and I want to get off!  I want to be on stable, solid ground again.  I've never been one for amusement park rides.

Goodbye Teddy

I remember the first time I saw this house.  It was a beautiful, hot July day in 2006.  Our wonderful agent had worked an Open House at our previous house the whole day, and by mid-afternoon had three full-price offers for us to review.  That house had only been on the market for three days, and while we knew it was a great house we didn't expect it to move so quickly!  Being the trooper she was, she agreed to spend the late afternoon and evening with us and our then youngest daughter, then two years old,  looking at houses.  We looked at several, and a few piqued our interest but they weren't quite right.  The very last house in the stack was a tri-level and it seemed to be way too far off the beaten path, both of which were strikes against it in my eyes.  Nor was I enthused by the photos of it in the listing.  It looked awkward and all I could see when I looked at it was the garage  However, we were already out and about and it was just another few minutes, so I agreed to look at one more house that day. 

As we rounded the corner onto the street, I knew I was home, and I hadn't even pulled into the driveway.  We climbed the stairs onto the porch; I turned and could see the foothills of the mountains in the East and the beginnings of a fiery, summer sunset over the tree-tops in the West.  The sounds of kids playing in the late evening warmth rose up from the surrounding backyards and echoed through the neighborhood.  Our agent unlocked the house and we stepped inside.  The previous owners had just moved the last of their things out that afternoon, and the house was freshly cleaned.  And it was so beautiful.  I loved the colors.  I loved the lines.  I loved the yard.  I LOVED the bathtub.  Our daughter and I even climbed in and sat for a few minutes, pretending to take a bubble bath.  Mr. Four Walls was pleased that I was pleased, but was sold the moment he opened the garage door and saw all the space.  Yep, this would do it for him. 

We went back to our house, ordered pizza for our agent and her husband, who had joined us by that point, and sat down to write up the offer.  About 36 hours later, we had a signed agreement with the sellers, and the beautiful but out-of-the-way, last-house-on-the-list was well on its way to becoming our home.  The home that our kids would run to from the bus stop after school for years until they were old enough to park their cars in front of it.  The home that our families would travel to for too much Turkey on cold, blustery November Thursdays.  The home that we would sit in, listening to frogs sing their courtship songs across the lake and wetlands that border the neighborhood and to the far off drum-cadence during the high-school football games, instead of the airplanes, sirens, and and gunshots that rang through the streets of our old neighborhoods.  We'd worked hard, building a business and building a life that was better for us and for our young kids, and we had found the home in which to celebrate those accomplishments. 

Today the for-sale sign went in out front, and strangers can now peer into my kitchen, my bathrooms, my closets with just a mere phone call, and actually with just the click of a mouse.  It's so strange to think about, someone else walking through this house, wanting it to be their home.  We sold our last house, and while we'd put a lot of ourselves into it, it felt so right and appropriate that someone else should want it. It was time to move on. This feels different.  This feels wrong, like.... like a piece of my life is up for grabs.  Like when I was little and my older brothers would snatch one of my prized stuffed animals and toss it back and forth above my head to taunt me, and try as I might I couldn't get it back from them.  The difference here is that at some point my brother would either get bored and drop it where ever they were as they moved onto their next trouble-making endeavor, or my parents would intervene and tell them to leave me alone. Either way, I'd get my sweet teddy-bear back.  This time, however, no one will get bored, no one will intervene, and I won't get to take back my "teddy-bear."  No.  It's been thrown over the fence into the mean neighbor's yard, and their dogs have now made it their personal chew-toy.  It's gone for good, and I have to move on.

Night Wakings

It's Sunday of Memorial Day weekend, and our home goes on the market in two days.  Not because we want to move (we don't), not because we have some new and exciting adventure towards which to head (although we try to think we do), and not because we dislike our current home  (we love it).  Our home goes on the market because we can no longer afford it.  Of course this wasn't an overnight revelation.  This has been a long time coming, and I'll relay that tale over another few posts in the coming days.  Over the course of the process, numerous people have suggested that I blog about our experience, and I've always resisted.  Afterall, I'm a full-time working mother of 3 kids.  Seriously, when would I actually have the time?!  Plus, I'm not sure how many people really want to read my innermost thoughts.  I bore myself most days.  Even so, I woke up last night with the clearest picture of what I should be writing about, cyber-pen to cyper-page, and what this blog should be called. 

Four walls, a roof, a door, some windows. It's a line from a Dixie Chicks song, called A Home.  It has stuck in my head for the past two plus years, reminding me that no matter how attached I am, we all are, to our homes, they really just are some walls, a roof, a door, some windows....replaceable.  So at 2 a.m. this morning, with this song playing over and over and over in my head, I tossed and I turned trying to justify my reasons for not writing about this.  But I couldn't.  I believe in God. I believe that He has us walk through some really difficult "stuff" sometimes.  I believe it's always for a reason.  I believe that He woke me last night (although my husband thinks it might have been a bad burger...) with this song in my head and these words on my heart for one reason: to put my thoughts, my feelings, my fears, my emotions out there for others - some who know me well and others whom I have never met - to read and  to experience and to maybe relate to them along side me.  So over the next several months, as we attempt to sell our house before the foreclosure notices start arriving and the auction date is set, I'll share with you, my dear reader and friend.  Please don't judge me too harshly for my failures, and please forgive me for my typos - of which I'm sure there will be many as I expect I'll frequently be writing with a baby on my hip as I help one or two other kids with their homework, all while folding laundry or sorting mail.  (Only so many hours in the day!  A mom's got to multi-task, right?).  Wish us luck, send us your prayers, and please attempt to laugh at my humor.  I'll be back soon.