Part Three: The showing

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Back to the house situation: (This happened two Saturdays ago)

Appts set: one at 11am and one at 1pm


It is 11am, and for the last 10 minutes, a car has been parked in front of this house. Promtly at 11, a lady gets out, and comes to the door. Aaron, the kids, and Captain, head out the door, and go set up the good faith deposit, and then go right over to F.R.'s office. I pick up a magazine, and pretend I have absolutely no cares in the world, (much harder than you would think!). All the windows are open, so when they go outside, I can hear them chatting about the home-- they love the big bedrooms, the openess, and the view. (DARN IT!)

They mention the house around the corner, (bigger than this one, also a short sell, and still has lakeview. Our prequal letter came a day after this one went on the market-- and it got a number of offers the *first day*. I learn that the house -- which was listed at $200,000, sold for $230,000. Aparently the couple checking out this house had put a bid on that one too, but they didn't get it.)

They soon leave to go view more homes. And now is where it gets interesting....

As they drive away, another two cars pull up.

I call Aaron and let him know that the people for the first showing have left. He says he will be right over to pick me up, and bring me over to the office to sign paperwork.

One of the ladies comes over to the second car and -- the windows are open, remember, so I can hear them-- says to the other, 'Well, it looks like they just walked up to the door and knocked. Let me go give that a try.'

She come to the door, and I open it. She asks if she and her client can come inside and see the home.  I tell her she needs an appointment.  She says she called for a 10 am appt., and I interupt her to ask her to repeat what she just said.  She now looks through her paperwork, scrolls down to where it is highlighted, and says she called the service, and asked for an *11* am appointment. 

Ya, and I'm a NASCAR driver. 

So I call her on it, and make it plain that I didn't recieve any notice.  She tries to play it off that somehow it is the owners' realtor fault that he didn't call me. I am then obliged to tell her that the realtor doesn't call me....it's the property manager who does.  I also feel obliged to tell her that my windows are open, and I heard her conversation with the other lady quite clearly, and I know she didn't try to make an appt.  She blushes, and leaves. 

Aaron pulls up,  I lock up the house, and we roar away to the office where we sign a TON of paperwork.  We get home, eat lunch, and get a call: We need to add signatures to two pages.  It is 12:35, and we rush back over to the office, and then back to the house.  We pull up at 12:50.  We wait, and wait.... but no one shows up. 


****** Later that weekend, we hear back from our realtor.  The owners' realtor wants us to sign a paper stating we will agree to not look at any homes for 90 days.  He threatens to not show the owners our bid unless we do so.  He also states that if (if!) he gets anymore offers, he will draw the banks attention to those offers and put their bids in first. 

Our realtor is awesome.  He tells the owners' realtor that we will not sign any such paper-- especially as the owners could forclose, and we would have signed our rights away.  (If it forclosed, and we had signed the paper, we would not be able to look for a new place to live-- even if we were required to leave here in less time than 90 days from signing the paper. How crazy is this guy?)

So after MUCH discussion, our realtor gets the point across: We are from L.A. (yes all of us-- that is where we all originally met).  We do not do business that way.  We are not going to be doormats for him to stomp on.  (YA!).  And FINIALLY this guy backs down.

So come Monday evening, the owners decide to.... drumroll, please!

 **They accept our bid**

Whew!  

Now we just have to wait for the bank to approve our bid too. 

As I look around this house I see spilled granola, colored pencils on the counter, books on the floor, and musical instruments in the living room.  As I look out my back door I see the lake, trees, and seagulls soaring over the lake.  Beautiful.  It is all beautiful.

Part One: What to do when the house you are renting goes into a short sale: The short end of the stick...in a SHORT Sale process

Part One:

Life is short. And, more specifically, life is darn short when your plans go awry. Those curve balls seem to come out of nowhere, hit you hard, and throw your ordered life into something resembling a bad circus. If you are looking for info on what we did when the house we are renting went into a short sale, scroll down to the line of astericks-- everyone else, here is what our lives have been like for the past while. Welcome to life in the madhouse!

Which brings me to this: The owners of the house we are renting, (yes, the one that we moved to so we could prepare to pay the hubby's school loans), have decided to short sell the house. Yes, we've now only been here four months. Yes, we are in shock, too. No, we didn't expect this one either. And-- finally-- yes life has been crazy, and immensly stressful, for the past few weeks.

We first got a tantilizing taste of the future when someone knocked on our door. A lady stood there, asked for _______ or __________ (the owners). She then asked if we were new owners. (No, but by now I was loving the house, the view, and the church group.) She then-- breaking the news ever so gently-- handed me a piece of paper, and told me the owners were behind on their payments..... probably by at least 3--4 months.

Oh,my.

We called up the property manager, he assured us the lease protected us, and we would be fine. Fine? We were NOT fine, thank you very much. We just moved! (This was not quite two months after being here.) - He then calls out to the owners, who tell him that everything is well, and that they were just in the process of getting a "loan modification".

Fast forward to the beginning of June: We get a call from the Property Manager. The owner's have decided to short sell. And to top it off he tells us (over the phone) that the owners say we can start taking $100 dollars off the rent-- to help 'soften the blow' and as an incentive to keep mowing the lawn and keeping the place nice.

I find this highly ironic as we have *made* this place nice-- some of the weeds were up to my shoulder!

A week and a half later, my husband calls me from work. The realtor for the owners has called him there leaving messages on both his work number and his work cell. He doesn't have time to call him back... can I do it? It's my birthday, but my plans are flexible, and I give him a call.

First off: I don't get a hold of him, so I leave a message.

Second: I call my friend _______, whom I have known for years, and just happens to be a realtor as well. I ask him what I can expect, and what my rights and responsibilities are as a renter in this situation. He gives me loads of information appropriate for the state I live in, (for me this is Utah), and additionally gives me some websites to look over for more info. He advises me to get everything in writting. Not only will this let me review any details, but it helps to make sure everyone is abiding by the rules as well.

The owner's realtor gives me a call back late in the day. I ask him to email me, and he replies he just wants a few minutes of time really quick on the phone. First thing he asks: how much do I know about the short sell process?

(Please note: whenever someone asks me this type of 'how much do I know?' question, I always play dumb. It is HIGHLY informative as to what kind of person I am speaking to. Will they repect me? Will they try to take advantage of my percieved ignorance?)

He then says he would like to get someone in later that day, or at the latest tomorrow morning to take some pictures of the property, and get the BPO done. And I stop him right there.

Here is why: Legally--as a renter-- I get 24 hours heads up notice. I tell him there are two reasons why 'same day' isn't going to work. Number one: it's my birthday, and I am not going to spend the next couple of hours scrambling around to prep the house for pictures. Number two: I legally get 24 hours advance notice.

He then proceeds to call me uncooperative, and difficult. (Really? Because I am insisting on the 24 hours?! I mean, seriously, I know what pictures should look like-- and as I look around my living room & kitchen, there is NO WAY it is going to be picture worthy in just an hour. Who does the morning dishes on their birthday?!) He then tries to bully me into doing what he wants by threatening to call the owners. Um, hello? They are short selling the house we just paid to start renting-- just what does he think they can do to make our lives *more* complicated? He then tells me that he is going to call the property manager-- I say, "Great! I think he'd be very interested in hearing that you are trying to get away with not abiding by the lease".

I say goodbye while he is still arguing, and then contact my husband. I re-read our lease-- yes, I highlighted those sections pertaining to the sale of the property, the areas that ensured we had 'quiet enjoyment of property',(a GREAT clause), and how long we would have to move if the property sold-- which turned out to be 90 days. My husband does additional research on what to do in a situation like this, and I start to write a LONG email (yes, even longer than this post!) detailing what we, as renters, will do to help facilitate the sale of the property for the owners, but also what we expect them to abide by as well--*precisly*.


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Here is what we included as 'expectations/ allowments' in the email to the property manager. Some of this might sound strict, but I wrote that this was all due to the behavior of the owners' realtor-- which it was. (Because had he not been so rude, and awlful, we never would have gotten all this info together and demanded this.) If it was in the lease, I quoted it--including section, and exact wording. If it was part of Civil Code, or law, I quoted it, and included the source as well.

For instance: Did you know that if you call the local police station (which my husband did), you can find out if you-- as a renter-- can refuse to have a lockbox placed on your door? We found that ENORMOUSLY comforting as parents. We have two kids that are old enough to babysit our youngest, and I often leave them in charge while I go to the store. The idea that a realtor could just come and open the house up for strangers to look the house over-- while I'm not there-- was horrifying. So in the email I said no lock box, and quoted the Civil Code (including number in case they needed to look it up).

1. 24 hours advance notice. We would need time to prep the house, (remove any personal items,personal info-- paperwork stuff, etc). We would also need to arrange to take our children-- AND our dog--out, while showings occured. (Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find something? Can we say, "McDonald's drive thru for ice-cream", anyone?)

2. Quiet enjoyment of property. We expected to have the majority of our time *ours*. (Unless the owners wanted to give us a HUGE reduction in rent, that is.)

3. In order to help 'show the property' I stated that we would be happy to open our home for showings (with 24 hour advance notice for every appointment) one day a week, from the hours of ____ to _____. (This was a nice 8 hour window of time.) I even suggested Saturday,(the best day to show a home), but left the finial desicion to them.

4.Communication was to be by email, (gave specific email address), and our home phone number. My husband was not to be disturbed at work. (I also inquired as to how the owners' realtor had recieved those numbers. We haven't gotten an answer to that one, but I really just asked it to show that we were aware that those numbers should not have been given out without our ok.)

5. No lock box. One of us would be at the home to open up for the appointments.

6. I stated that it was to be made clear which items were our own personal property vs. what came with the house. I wrote that I am specifiying this, because we have an arbor, raised beds, and two fountains. (Can you imagine bidding on a home only to find out that some part you loved was not included?!)

7. I wanted it *in writting* about the rent reduction.

8. I stated that although we would continue to mow, and do basic maintanence, we would stop landscaping and adding wood chips....unless they wanted to re-imburse us. (You can definetly tell where we started and stopped.) The clause in the lease that stated we were to maintain the property-- and NOT use the excuse, 'It was like this when we got here', did not apply to us. I stated that we took pictures (yes, I did take pictures of the entire house and yard before we moved our stuff in), and I was happy to improve things while we were going to be living here,(I am a Master Gardener, afterall!), but now that the house was going up for sale, I would not be giving out anymore 'freebies'. (In fact, I dug up the lilacs I had planted, and potted them.)

9. We expected to be treated with dignity and respect. (And after the conversation with the owners' realtor, I felt I needed to state that loud and clear.)


We waited a week and a bit. Stressed out, house and yard spotless, and on the edge of our seats. I regretted dumping out old boxes, we poured over adds for homes, and our family was wondering: where to next?

In a weeks time this is what we got:

An email from our Property Manager stating that he will be arranging things with us-- no longer is _________ (owners' realtor) going to have any contact with us. The property manager will personally email us about showings, and 'Saturdays sound great.'


So that is the end of "Part One: The short end of the stick".

Homeschooling Week 1

This last week has been one full of change, adventure, and quite frankly *fun*. But to explain the *why* of it all, I'll back up and tell you what has been going on...


For the past several months I have watched over Jacob's progress in kindergarten closely. I noticed a few months ago that he has the same difficulties that Matt had at his age: namely a complete and utter disreguard for reading. (Which, as an avid reader, sends up the flashing lights & loud sirens of doom, ringing in my ears.) It was such a concern for me, that I contacted a lady who works for the Alpine School District to have him and Matt tested for learning disabilities.

They tested brilliantly. So then: what was going on???

Two Fridays ago, I sat at the work table waiting for stations to start up. The kids were taking a spelling test, and they were just reviewing the words (in case any kids had missed hearing them). I listened in, and kept thinking, 'Jacob knows that one. And that one, oh-- that one too!' Nice thoughts, you know? I hadn't heard about the spelling test ahead of time, so I was relieved that even though we hadn't practiced, he would be prepared. Those 'nice thoughts' left when I looked over at my son. His eyes were looking up at the ceiling, out the window, at the walls-- everywhere, really. He looked so BORED. Poor thing.

The kids handed in their papers to me, and I took a look at Jacob's. Almost every word was wrong. Wrong!

Later that day while driving home from school, I ask the question: What did you do at school today? And I get the same answer I have gotten for two weeks straight: 'Nothing'.

'Nothing'.

At first I thought it was funny-- a 'pretend answer'. But that day, I asked some pretty pointed questions like, 'Is school boring?' and 'What are you learning?' And then I asked myself a pretty important question: "Is having free time for myself worth my son having a bad education?" Because, honestly, that is THE question. The *ALL IMPORTANT* one. My husband makes enough money that I don't have to work outside the home. I have homeschooled our two older children. I know how it goes. And, at this point, I have a test result that tells me Jacob is smart.

Monday morning looms. And Jacob-- sweet, brilliant, *honest* Jacob says: Mom, can I homeschool? And I say 'Yes'.


So that's how we got to this point. I know what to do. It isn't a big deal. We fill out a form, get it notarized, and mail it off. We return the book from the Take Home Reading Program (a HUGE disapointment-- I'll write about it another time), and also the school library book. We go to museums, do some chores, read together on the couch, and play Memory. We make Mac 'n Cheese, drink some juice, and play math games. We learn a new way to write time, make a number chart that goes until 130, and we are in the process of making a calendar. We learn about King Arthur, and read silly stories and poetry. We walk around a lake with surrounding wetlands. We walk (just a foot in) on the ice that has formed on the lake. We go to the park, the library (American Fork library is better), and check out the Provo City Library. We learn that flowers change color if put in water with food coloring in it for several days.

We have fun.

CTR

It is 4pm on a Monday afternoon. I'm taking my daughter, Winter, and the daughter of a friend of mine to Wal-Mart to get some bread and some fabric. The bread, because-- so far-- Jacob only eats the Wal-Mart brand of wheat bread (he doesn't believe in branching out), and the fabric, because we are making a quilt. My friend just had some surgery done on her foot, and as is tradition in our family, we make a quilt for those who have had surgery/ hospital time. This time, we are engaging the assistance of my friend's daughter to make it.

Back to the 4pm:

We pull into the parking lot, and I aim for the parking aisle with the flag pole. (Landmarks and patterns of parking are SUCH a good thing when I park in a giant lot. It can be worse than trying to find your car in the parking lot at LegoLand, because there are none of those handy 'You parked in the _____ zone' signs.) Anyways, I spy a parking place up ahead on the left, but I can't get to it just yet as there is a car ahead of me. There is another car that looks like it may turn into the aisle, so I flip my turn signal on. As the car in front of me leaves, and I pull forward, the driver-- a woman as I can now see-- shakes her head at me, and makes a quick turn into the spot.

Really?!

I feel all sorts of things: anger, frustration, and a strong desire to just park right behind her, turn off my engine, and claim I'm having 'car trouble' and I just *can't* get it to start up again.

But I don't. I've got two young ladies in the car, and they are watching me. And-- to be honest-- I wouldn't do that anyways. (I also didn't think of it until five minutes ago). But hours later I'm still feeling frustration over the tendancy of people to take what they want, and stomp on people. And then SMILE. As if they've won some sort of highly prized 'Anti-Humanitarian Award'.

The parking place isn't a big deal. Winter helped me find another one that was closer anyways. (Thank you Winter!) I couldn't help but think as I drove away from the area that on my car are the letters CTR. Choose the Right. And as such, I do strive to do that. It isn't easy. It isn't a collection of letters that mean I will always win-- because 'Right' doesn't. Even 'right' loses sometimes in this world. But CTR isn't just a guideline for how to play the game of life. It is also a way to live-- even when you lose.

Baby Blanket on the Bed

This past week I've been sleeping on the couch. I've been sick, and there is-- in my mind--no possible way to keep on friendly terms with your spouse if one of you is sick, and you are both in the same bed. There is just no way. Deliberately setting up your spouse to get sick too is not a loving form of sharing-- it's sabotage. So this past week, while I've been horrendously germy, I've granted him a strong chance of health. Of NOT going where I've been. Which is why, *after* I woke up this morning, I walked into my room ;)

I was exhausted beyond belief after several nights of only getting a few hours of interrupted sleep each night. I was a bleary eyed and tired woman looking for a sweater to throw on so I could take my youngest to kindergarten. I noticed a pile of clean clothes on my side of the bed (THANK YOU MATT!!) and looked for what I needed. While searching, my eyes registered something: a baby blanket on the bed.

It was the Noah's Ark one that I *NEEDED* when I found out that I was having a boy. It was THE ITEM that would help me cross that ocean of tiny-male-bundle-full-of-explosive-testosterone that I found myself having to journey across. I remember -- before I even knew I was pregnant-- of suddenly having this ferociousness in me-- this uncontainable "I'm Gonna Conquer The World and You Better Be OK With It" attitude. I felt my world had been reduced to ME and ..... well, ME.

It was strange. It was different. It was a PAIN IN THE BUTT. Suddenly I didn't like having my will crossed AT ALL. I was opinionated, rude, blunt (ie, another way of saying rude), and cranky. I'm still surprised, when I look back at that time period, that NO ONE hired a hit man to take me out. They must have felt really compassionate towards that unborn baby.....you know, the very one that had turned me into a Mean and Evil Woman.

There was a battle of wills when I was pregnant with our first boy. There was a war for dominance, for control, for sanity. The worst part is, that because it was so internally focused, that the shock waves had no where to go but out. Which is why one should always give a pregnant woman what she wants-- you never know if she is having one of THOSE kind of pregnancies. Like a specific Noah's Ark baby quilt set.

This one was blue. It had golden stars on the back of the quilt and on the baby bumper. It had cute, sanitary looking animals on the front. The boat was even artistically adorable. In short, for me, it was a reminder of how a man, (which boys do grow up to be), could do so much good for so many. Noah wasn't some mellow-go-with-the-flow kind of guy. He had a dominate force of personality. He had to-- to do what he knew was right, despite the mocking crowds, takes a will that is stronger than all those who opposed him-- all of them *combined* mind you. He wasn't just a rock, he was a mountain.

The potential that was within me, (that Strong-willed MALE creature), had a good chance of making the world dance to his tune, if the pregnancy was anything to go by. (And they better like it too!) I just had to have faith, and hope, that the melody was going to result in something beautiful.

And it has. Despite the manipulations that got him an electric guitar last Christmas, and despite the fact that I will never fully understand the need in this world for all of his zombie jokes, he is awesome.


He is the one who put the pile of my clean clothes on my bed for me.

The Lurking Widow

This morning-- EARLY morning-- I was awakened by my trusty get-into-trouble-dog. He was asking to be let outside. At 5:30 in the morning. Knowing that any hesitation on my part could result in having to clean up an ocean of pee, I rushed my feet into duty, and let my dog out into the backyard. I fully intended to let him watch the rising of the sun outside while I regained unconsciousness. However, after a short few minutes the neighbors behind us turned on their lights.

Normally people can turn on their own house lights without the world turning on me, but that doesn't take into account my dog. You see, just as he is determined to bark relentlessly at a skunk for daring to be on HIS property, he is also going to bark at the neighbors who have allowed their lights to illuminate any zone outside of their own fence.Because, it's HIS property, HIS zone, HIS turf, and as my dog is a resounding and very male 'he', it is also HIS castle.

So, just as the blankets were warming up again, and the warmth was pulling me into sweet slumber, he barked-- loud, and irritatingly consistent. The only solution was to bring him back in again. So I got up, let him in, and found that with all the going up and down I had been doing, my nose was decidedly stuffed. It needed blowing. So I headed to the bathroom, and found myself staring at a sight one hopes not to see. (Especially if one is blurry-eyed, because it takes a while to decide if you are really seeing it or not-- which means you are staring at it for an even LONGER period of time.)

A black widow-- casually maneuvering its way down the door. GRRRRR. I grew up in a place that had a ton of these 'friendly ladies' in the shed, the garage, and of course the proverbial wood pile. But I didn't want to face it that early in the morning. I didn't have a handy shoe ready. But it was in MY house, MY territory, and I definitely didn't want her to be a guest in MY castle. (I may not be male, but right then I could totally sympathize with Captian's perspective.)

I looked around, and found a nice paperback book (much better to use than hardcovers), and positioned myself, took a breath of determination, and WHACKED that lady to doom.

I gave a little shriek, not because of any remorse over her murder, but because she had ungraciously smeared on the cover of the library book I had used. Thank goodness I had already read that one-- and I won't mention the title, just in case you someday want to check it out ;) Don't worry too much though, I wiped the cover down. I then gave the remains of that lady a quick flush to the ocean.

So note to self: when the dog is barking, it could be a signal to me that something is going on that I should be aware of. Or that the neighbors are up, and he thinks I should be up too to help protect his turf.

I'll think about it more later-- after I wake up again.

The Living Room

The Living Room: It's a fort-making-room, a war-zone, a spy training center, a pillow-fight room, a fairy-dusted forest, and a place to curl up for a good read. It's a place to strum a guitar, a place to make up new songs on the piano, and play some old favorites. It's the room where the cat and the dog love to remind you why they are family, and not just pets. It's the room where chips and sandwhiches got snuck in, and the juice got spilled. It's the room where 'after school' is synonymous with 'piles of backpacks and sweaters everywhere'. It's the place where you probably took your first steps, bumped your nogin on the coffee table, and later advanced to jumping on the sofa-- and now your kids have done it too. It's the room where all the best lessons were taught: how to share, how to read, and how to give hugs of 'hello' and 'good-bye'. It's the room where for the first time you heard the words, 'In the beginning...', 'And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree...', or other words from holy texts. It's the room you practiced your oral reports, and watched a hundred movies. It's a room for swapping stories and hanging out. It's a room for dressing up in your finest to greet guests, or chilling back in your pj's alone. It's the room where friends know they can put their feet up, and sit down for a good chat. It's the place visitors get to know you, to get a glimpse of who you are--

*Life* happens in a good living room. Sit down, and watch the show....but be warned: in my house, participation is required ;)