Tonight, as I was driving home from a movie with a girlfriend, I couldn't stop my mind from racing about marriage and relationships. I kept thinking over and over, "I want to believe." And then I passed by an apartment building that had a very prominently lit Christmas tree in the large window at the front and I almost laughed out loud. How ironic that today, on Christmas day, I can't stop thinking about how much I want to believe in something that seems somewhat impossible to have faith in.
"What prompted these thoughts?" you might be wondering. In the past couple of months, I've had dating thrown in my face quite a bit.
In mid October, I met a spectacular group of women on a community page on facebook when one of them posted asking for other women interested in running and beer. What an awesome concept, right? We all meet up at a local brewery, run 2-4 miles, and then hang out and have a beer together. In the short two months that I've known these ladies, we've done our usual weekly run and beer but there's been so much more. We've gone out drinking together, they've helped me move my tenants belongings out of storage to sell (and brought beer, to boot), we've had a Christmas event, and I visited one of them in the hospital after she'd been there all day with her daughter. To say that we've become fast friends is an understatement. Two of the ladies, whom I've spent the most time with, are both divorced and have experienced the dating scene since their divorces; one of them is actively dating and the other had been but is on a "boy break." Conversations with them about dating got the wheels turning in my head, despite feeling no rush to get back into the scene.
A few weeks ago when I was selling my tenant's belongings (see here if you're a first time reader and this sounds odd to you), a gentleman that came to buy some items asked me for my phone number. He was tall, dark, and handsome although completely not my type and he was very flattering so, against what my gut was telling me, I gave him my number. To make a long story short, he has actively been pursuing me off and on because he felt a connection when we spoke on the phone but I didn't feel anything strong enough to warrant a date. If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times: instead of spending time trying to get to know a stranger via awkward conversation, I'd rather be hanging out with girlfriends or doing yoga or having some alone time. (I don't mention my kids here because nothing would cut into time with my kids; that time is sacred.) He seems like a sincerely nice guy but I noticed too many differences in personality, beliefs, and hobbies to believe that there could ever be anything there.
Through all of this, I remained steadfast in my feeling that I'm happier and better off on my own. That changed last Monday when I met my mortgage broker for the first time. I have been working with him since I started looking at homes several months ago but I had only spoken with him on the phone and via email. I had seen his picture as a small icon on something that he sent me. It was basically microscopic but I could tell that he is very attractive. Every time I spoke with him, he seemed like a very nice, hard working man. And my real estate agent has sung his praises time and time again. Despite finding him attractive and having been told great things about him, I never really thought anything of it. But something made me schedule a meeting with him to sit down and run some numbers face to face, even though we could have easily done it over the phone or even via email.
With my busy schedule and an out of town meeting that he had, there was about a week from the time that we scheduled until the actual meeting. As it drew closer, I began to get excited about meeting him. Like a silly high school girl, I had begun talking about him and showing his pictures on facebook to my friends (he had recently friend requested me). One of the girls kept texting me about him with the emoji that has hearts for eyes. I literally sent a group text to all of the single girls from my running group to discuss what I should wear to the meeting. I think part of the excitement and anticipation was simply because it was fun and new. I was feeling things that I hadn't felt in a very long time. But there was a little part of me that did want to be found attractive by this attractive man.
When I walked into his office on Monday morning, I was almost stopped in my tracks. I turned into a blubbering idiot. This guy isn't just attractive; he is an incredibly handsome gentleman. But he doesn't look like a model. He's MY kind of attractive, MY type. Don't get me wrong, I think that most women would find him attractive. I'm not trying to downplay that. But good Lord, if there was ever a guy that I considered my type, it's this guy. I was immediately greeted with a slight smirk, like we had an inside joke together or something. And it wasn't a slimy smirk; it was more like a shy smirk. Throughout the meeting, he flashed that same smirk several times. I wish that I could describe what I picked up on from him but I can't really put it into words, probably mostly because I was so taken aback by my attraction to him. In fact, there was a brief time when I stopped hearing his voice because I was imagining a first kiss with him, which is so unlike me!
Even though I can't describe to you what happened in that half hour meeting I can tell you that something changed in me. There might have been true chemistry (which may or may not come to fruition after we're done doing business together), or he might have simply lit a spark in my interest in dating in general. This attraction to a handsome man who has been praised over and over again by a woman whose opinion I respect has brought back some hope for me. I really want to believe that a long term relationship is a realistic goal for my future. It still seems a little bit like believing in Santa Claus but I have to admit that there is a renewed feeling of optimism.
I did text my real estate agent about the meeting to update her on the financial aspect and threw this in "(Side note: he is very handsome!)" to which she responded that he is very much a gentleman, too. And I'm left wondering.
Friday, December 25, 2015
Sunday, November 22, 2015
November 22, 2015 - My Absence
It has been three and a half months since I last posted, right before the shit hit the proverbial fan. I am the type of person that has to have a resolution before I feel comfortable doing much talking about a situation. It's probably due to all of the sitcoms that I watched growing up, where every problem that the characters had were resolved in a 30 minute episode. (My Dad always used to comment on how unrealistic they were) I'm writing before there's a resolution because this morning I realized that I'm starting to feel myself climbing into a hole of negativity; I'm having a difficult time continuing to believe that I'll be okay once this situation is over and I have a bunch of doomsday scenarios running through my head. I've done a lot of work in my adult life to get away from this negative thinking and I'm determined not to regress back into this mindset. I'm writing now because it's the only thing that I could think of that I could do immediately and possibly feel better about what's happening. So here goes.
I bought a small condo at the ripe old age of 23, very shortly after earning my teaching credential. I give full credit to my Dad for helping me make this wise decision: rents were insanely high and it actually made more sense to buy than to rent, but I never would've figured that out on my own. And I never would have had the down payment without a loan from my Dad and step Mom. I lived there until I was 29 and engaged, when I moved 25 miles north, which was more of a middle ground between my job and MSTBE's. I tried to sell the condo but the timing was awful. This was right when the housing market started dropping. So I decided to keep it as a rental. I've been a landlord for eight years now with no major complications.
At the end of May this year, I decided to sell it. I've been renting a house for a while now and feel that it is time to buy a home for my kids and myself. The money that I get from the sale will act as my down payment. We went into escrow quickly but set it up to close on or before September 30 as that was when the tenant's lease was up. I was hopeful that with four months advanced notice, the tenant would move out sooner and we'd close during the summer. Boy, was I ever wrong.
Instead of moving out early, she stopped paying her rent on August 1. This was actually a blessing in disguise. (More on that later.) I had authorized my real estate agent to offer her the month of August rent free if she moved out by the thirty first but we never heard back from her confirming that. There were other things going on with her; I was getting regular calls, texts and emails from neighbors in the complex and the homeowner's association about very erratic behavior and the police had been called on her numerous times. I didn't trust her. On August 24 I posted a three day notice to pay or quit, the first step in the eviction process. I left her a message that day telling her that I didn't want to proceed with the eviction process and if she moved out by August 31, I wouldn't pursue anything further. I told her that I was simply protecting myself. Later that day I got a threatening voicemail.
Needless to say, my tenant did not move out on the thirty first and I hired a lawyer. The chaos around the complex escalated. September was an incredibly stressful month for me. Then, all of a sudden toward the end of the month, the complaints ceased. The neighbor upstairs, whom I'd been friends with the entire time that I lived there, texted me and was actually concerned about the tenant. Her car had been sitting unmoved for over a week with a note taped to it. In the middle of a heatwave, the windows in the condo remained closed and the air conditioner was never turned on. My agent went over to do some recon and learned that the tenant was in the unit but wouldn't open the door, claiming that she was sick.
A few days later, we were scheduled to be in court for the eviction judgement. I was more nervous than I'd been in a long time as I walked up to the courthouse, up the stairs, and down the hall to the courtroom. I was looking around every corner, waiting to run into her and for her to verbally attack me. Or worse. In fact, I was so paranoid that I made myself believe that someone was following me as I drove to the courthouse. My tenant had told me that her Dad had "goons" following her and I adopted some of that irrational paranoia, thinking that those goons were going to create an accident and cause me to not make it to court.
She didn't show up for the hearing. I won the judgement by default. My lawyer said it would be 10-15 days before the lockout date was scheduled. (Remember that timeframe; it'll come up again).
When we learned that the hearing was scheduled for September 30, we requested an extension on escrow through October 30. The buyer agreed. I called the lawyer's office regularly to follow up on the timeframe and the steps that had to be taken before the lockout. First, the court had to issue the request for a writ of possession. That usually happens the day after the hearing. I called a week after the hearing and found out that the judge had let the paperwork sit on his desk for the entire week and the lawyer just received it. I was told we were now 10-15 days from the lockout. "Wait, the lawyer told me 10-15 days after the hearing?!?!" I called a few days later to find out if the writ had been sent to the sheriff. The assistant told me that they had to send the writ back to the courts because the clerk forgot to put the judgement date on it; that it might take three weeks to get it back. I was in such shock and outrage that I hung up the phone, defeated. I called back a bit later after having had time to think about it and was ready to insist that this mistake not hold up the process (and cost me three weeks of rent!). Before I even had a chance to start making demands, I found out that the document had already been delivered and that it would go to the sheriff the next day. Clearly the receptionist didn't know what she was talking about. This was now around October 19th. On this second phone call, I asked the lawyer for a timeframe. I'll give you one guess about what he told me... 10-15 days! Are you kidding me?!?!
The next day, I called the sheriff. It took some work but I was finally able to get a hold of a real person. She told me that the lockout is usually done about a week after the writ of possession is posted but that it all really depends on the deputy's schedule. She told me that evictions have priority. She also told me that the sheriff would call me one day before the lockout or maybe even the day of the lockout. Again, I was a bit stunned by the information and hung up without asking questions. A day or two later I called back. This time it took more work to get to a live human but the person that I spoke with was more helpful. I told her that I'm a teacher and I can't just get up and leave work with very little notice. She told me that she would get a message to the deputy for me. For the remainder of the day, I was anxious and had a hard time focusing on teaching. I kept my phone, ringer on, by my side, which I never do. In the early afternoon I got a call from a number that I didn't recognize and got excited only to find out that it was a doctor following up on a request that my doctor sent for routine genetic screening.
The second call that I got that afternoon was the deputy. I left my students, mid lesson (I had explained a little bit to them about what was going on beforehand), and found out that the sheriff was expecting an ugly lockout. He had scheduled it for two days from then, on October 29, and he had spoken with the tenant earlier that day. He said that she was determined not to leave. But he was firm in that he was going to get possession of my property that day.
All that I could think about for the next day and a half was the entitlement of my tenant. What made her think that she should just be allowed to live in my property for free? I'm not her parent or even her friend or relative. Why does she think it's my responsibility to provide for her? And did she have no guilt about the amount of money that she'd already cost me?
The morning of the twenty ninth, I left my house at least ten minutes earlier than I needed to. I was a ball of nerves. I was hoping that there was no reason that I needed to be in the vicinity of the unit when they physically removed the tenant, that I could wait in my car. I didn't want to see her. I didn't want to know if things went poorly or if they went easily. I simply wanted to know when she was out so that the locksmith could change the locks.
As I pulled into a guest parking spot five minutes before I was scheduled to meet the deputy, he called. They were waiting in the parking area a bit further down. There were a total of three deputies and an adult protective services agent. I handed the deputy a key and he asked if I wanted to wait in the car. Ah, what a relief. I said, "Yes, yes I do" in such a relived tone that the guys all got a chuckle. I walked back to my car, locked the doors, and used my phone as a distraction. Shortly afterward, the deputy called and said that they were in, that the tenant wasn't there, and that the locksmith was already working. He suggested that I come inside.
When I walked up, I had feelings of both disappointment and relief. I was disappointed that the tenant had left all of her belongings; I could tell that she had a lot of stuff but I didn't understand the magnitude until we moved all of it that weekend. I was relieved that there appeared to be no physical damage to the property. The locks were changed and I went home to decompress after what was another very stressful day. Later that day, I got a text from the upstairs neighbor. Someone in the complex had seen the tenant walking around, carrying the eviction notice. And that is the last that I've heard from her.
In the next day or so, I feverishly called around to find a moving company but then got so many offers of help from friends and family that I decided we could move it all ourselves. I wasn't expecting the tenant to claim the property and knew I wouldn't get much for the junk at a garage sale so I wanted to keep costs down. Legally I had to store the property for 15 days and then post two advertisements about a "public sale," at least five days apart.
Here's where things get messy again. On Friday night the tenant's father contacted my real estate agent saying they wanted to collect her things. I told them that we were already set to move everything on Sunday and my cleaning lady was coming in Sunday afternoon. Since I didn't trust them to follow through on their word, I told them they either had to move it all on Saturday (so that I could check Saturday night and still move it Sunday if needed) or they had to use the movers that I had previously scheduled for Sunday morning and pay me cash in advance. I was even going to pay the difference if the move took longer than expected. Initially, the Dad agreed to pay $500 for the movers. I cancelled the Uhaul and rescheduled the movers. Within an hour he changed his tune and said he'd only pay $400 and that I had to make up the difference. Are you freakin' kidding me?!?! This human being is not my responsibility!!! I have two beautiful children of my own and I don't need to take on anyone else's responsibility. So I told him to fuck off.
We spent nine hours packing and moving all of her things into storage. Nine hours. With seven people. As I had been calling around for storage facilities, everyone suggested a ten by ten unit for a 700 square foot one bedroom condo. The last place that I called happened to have a ten by seventeen on special at the cheapest price of all that I called. And it's a good thing. We filled that thing to the brim along with a full dumpster!
Believe it or not, this wasn't the end. Sometime around Tuesday the Dad contacted my agent again, saying that he wanted the belongings and that I was required to allow him access without him having to pay. It's too bad that he didn't Google the law before he decided to blow me off in the first place. I put him in contact with my lawyer who ensured him that he needed to pay me back for moving expenses, storage expenses, and even for our time spent moving. I haven't heard back from him again.
I still have the garage sale ahead of me, moving all of her belongings out of storage, trying to get enough money to cover my expenses, and throwing the rest away. Half of the storage unit is filled with what I consider trash. I will be paying a junk company to come remove all of that. But until this last Thursday, I thought we were going to have smooth sailing.
Sometime in the middle of October, we moved the close of escrow date to November 5. But the lender kept delaying the appraisal. We were going to get them in there two weeks before the eviction but they didn't want the buyer to pay for it until the tenant was out for fear that she wasn't going to get out. Clearly they have no idea how an eviction works. Did they think that she'd be able to stay in there indefinitely even though I already had the judgement? So we pushed the close date to November 20 and the appraisal was done about a week after the eviction.
Fast forward to Monday, November 16. We're expecting loan docs to be ready. My agent calls the lender several times Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. Finally, after no response, he drives to the lender's office on Thursday. Turns out that the buyer has a tax issue and he needs to refile for a previous tax year. The lender claims that this will take 45 days. I'm freaking out at this point. The buyer has been in a tough spot because he had to move out of his previous residence on the fifth. He's desperate to move into my condo and rent back. But I've been advised from a friend that renting back should be a last resort. Even before that advice I was hesitant to rent back. There are so many ways that it could go wrong and I just can't deal with more trouble here. Thursday afternoon the lender said that the buyer was so desperate that he'd have first month's rent and security deposit to me the next day. But then nobody returned my agent's phone calls all day Friday.
He and I brainstormed Friday night. I'm basically screwed. My CPA said that realistically this could take three months. If that's the case, then I'm going to be in the market to buy a house for myself in February, right when the market is picking back up. Right now, in the off season market with prices a bit lower than they were in the summer, I can afford a house. Barely. Literally if prices go up at all, I won't be able to. The only other option is to find a new buyer. Well, it looks like we either oversold it or prices have just gone down. There's another unit listed for $6000 less, same floorplan, more upgrades, and it's been sitting on the market for a while. So in this option, I potentially lose $10,000 or more by finding a new buyer, which also won't work because I barely have enough for a down payment as it is. I'm screwed.
The plan that we came up with on Friday night was this: we will meet with the lender tomorrow. I may or may not attend depending on the feel that my agent gets when he speaks with them in the morning. We will set out a list of expectations that need to be met, otherwise we cancel escrow. Among the many things on the list are that they need to tell us exactly what the tax issue is, we need to speak with the CPA handling it, and I need to confirm the timeline with my CPA. If either CPA thinks the process will take more than 60 days, we're cancelling. In addition, the buyer needs to give me two months rent as a deposit (because now I know that that's how long an eviction takes) and he needs to pay my per diem, the exact amount that I'm paying including taxes on the condo. Lastly, the buyer needs to switch to using our lender.
My life is in a holding pattern that is completely out of my control, once again, and just when I thought that this mess was over. I'm really struggling with feelings of' "Why me?" and, "What did I do to deserve this?" Logically I know that I didn't do anything, that none of this is my fault. But my heart is hurting and I don't know how much more of this I can take. The thought of not being able to buy a house for myself and my kids is devastating. Knowing that the irresponsibility and unprofessional behavior of others has possibly taken me from a place where I could to a place where I can't is beyond frustrating. I'm trying really hard to keep myself positive and to realize that there might be some good that comes out of this. For example, had my tenant not stopped paying her rent, I wouldn't have known that she wasn't intending on moving out. I would have carried on, thinking that she would move out on September 30, and this entire process would have been pushed back more than a month. The missed rent was a blessing in disguise. I'm hoping that there's some light at the end of this sad, dark tunnel and I'm hoping that it involves a house.
I bought a small condo at the ripe old age of 23, very shortly after earning my teaching credential. I give full credit to my Dad for helping me make this wise decision: rents were insanely high and it actually made more sense to buy than to rent, but I never would've figured that out on my own. And I never would have had the down payment without a loan from my Dad and step Mom. I lived there until I was 29 and engaged, when I moved 25 miles north, which was more of a middle ground between my job and MSTBE's. I tried to sell the condo but the timing was awful. This was right when the housing market started dropping. So I decided to keep it as a rental. I've been a landlord for eight years now with no major complications.
At the end of May this year, I decided to sell it. I've been renting a house for a while now and feel that it is time to buy a home for my kids and myself. The money that I get from the sale will act as my down payment. We went into escrow quickly but set it up to close on or before September 30 as that was when the tenant's lease was up. I was hopeful that with four months advanced notice, the tenant would move out sooner and we'd close during the summer. Boy, was I ever wrong.
Instead of moving out early, she stopped paying her rent on August 1. This was actually a blessing in disguise. (More on that later.) I had authorized my real estate agent to offer her the month of August rent free if she moved out by the thirty first but we never heard back from her confirming that. There were other things going on with her; I was getting regular calls, texts and emails from neighbors in the complex and the homeowner's association about very erratic behavior and the police had been called on her numerous times. I didn't trust her. On August 24 I posted a three day notice to pay or quit, the first step in the eviction process. I left her a message that day telling her that I didn't want to proceed with the eviction process and if she moved out by August 31, I wouldn't pursue anything further. I told her that I was simply protecting myself. Later that day I got a threatening voicemail.
Needless to say, my tenant did not move out on the thirty first and I hired a lawyer. The chaos around the complex escalated. September was an incredibly stressful month for me. Then, all of a sudden toward the end of the month, the complaints ceased. The neighbor upstairs, whom I'd been friends with the entire time that I lived there, texted me and was actually concerned about the tenant. Her car had been sitting unmoved for over a week with a note taped to it. In the middle of a heatwave, the windows in the condo remained closed and the air conditioner was never turned on. My agent went over to do some recon and learned that the tenant was in the unit but wouldn't open the door, claiming that she was sick.
A few days later, we were scheduled to be in court for the eviction judgement. I was more nervous than I'd been in a long time as I walked up to the courthouse, up the stairs, and down the hall to the courtroom. I was looking around every corner, waiting to run into her and for her to verbally attack me. Or worse. In fact, I was so paranoid that I made myself believe that someone was following me as I drove to the courthouse. My tenant had told me that her Dad had "goons" following her and I adopted some of that irrational paranoia, thinking that those goons were going to create an accident and cause me to not make it to court.
She didn't show up for the hearing. I won the judgement by default. My lawyer said it would be 10-15 days before the lockout date was scheduled. (Remember that timeframe; it'll come up again).
When we learned that the hearing was scheduled for September 30, we requested an extension on escrow through October 30. The buyer agreed. I called the lawyer's office regularly to follow up on the timeframe and the steps that had to be taken before the lockout. First, the court had to issue the request for a writ of possession. That usually happens the day after the hearing. I called a week after the hearing and found out that the judge had let the paperwork sit on his desk for the entire week and the lawyer just received it. I was told we were now 10-15 days from the lockout. "Wait, the lawyer told me 10-15 days after the hearing?!?!" I called a few days later to find out if the writ had been sent to the sheriff. The assistant told me that they had to send the writ back to the courts because the clerk forgot to put the judgement date on it; that it might take three weeks to get it back. I was in such shock and outrage that I hung up the phone, defeated. I called back a bit later after having had time to think about it and was ready to insist that this mistake not hold up the process (and cost me three weeks of rent!). Before I even had a chance to start making demands, I found out that the document had already been delivered and that it would go to the sheriff the next day. Clearly the receptionist didn't know what she was talking about. This was now around October 19th. On this second phone call, I asked the lawyer for a timeframe. I'll give you one guess about what he told me... 10-15 days! Are you kidding me?!?!
The next day, I called the sheriff. It took some work but I was finally able to get a hold of a real person. She told me that the lockout is usually done about a week after the writ of possession is posted but that it all really depends on the deputy's schedule. She told me that evictions have priority. She also told me that the sheriff would call me one day before the lockout or maybe even the day of the lockout. Again, I was a bit stunned by the information and hung up without asking questions. A day or two later I called back. This time it took more work to get to a live human but the person that I spoke with was more helpful. I told her that I'm a teacher and I can't just get up and leave work with very little notice. She told me that she would get a message to the deputy for me. For the remainder of the day, I was anxious and had a hard time focusing on teaching. I kept my phone, ringer on, by my side, which I never do. In the early afternoon I got a call from a number that I didn't recognize and got excited only to find out that it was a doctor following up on a request that my doctor sent for routine genetic screening.
The second call that I got that afternoon was the deputy. I left my students, mid lesson (I had explained a little bit to them about what was going on beforehand), and found out that the sheriff was expecting an ugly lockout. He had scheduled it for two days from then, on October 29, and he had spoken with the tenant earlier that day. He said that she was determined not to leave. But he was firm in that he was going to get possession of my property that day.
All that I could think about for the next day and a half was the entitlement of my tenant. What made her think that she should just be allowed to live in my property for free? I'm not her parent or even her friend or relative. Why does she think it's my responsibility to provide for her? And did she have no guilt about the amount of money that she'd already cost me?
The morning of the twenty ninth, I left my house at least ten minutes earlier than I needed to. I was a ball of nerves. I was hoping that there was no reason that I needed to be in the vicinity of the unit when they physically removed the tenant, that I could wait in my car. I didn't want to see her. I didn't want to know if things went poorly or if they went easily. I simply wanted to know when she was out so that the locksmith could change the locks.
As I pulled into a guest parking spot five minutes before I was scheduled to meet the deputy, he called. They were waiting in the parking area a bit further down. There were a total of three deputies and an adult protective services agent. I handed the deputy a key and he asked if I wanted to wait in the car. Ah, what a relief. I said, "Yes, yes I do" in such a relived tone that the guys all got a chuckle. I walked back to my car, locked the doors, and used my phone as a distraction. Shortly afterward, the deputy called and said that they were in, that the tenant wasn't there, and that the locksmith was already working. He suggested that I come inside.
When I walked up, I had feelings of both disappointment and relief. I was disappointed that the tenant had left all of her belongings; I could tell that she had a lot of stuff but I didn't understand the magnitude until we moved all of it that weekend. I was relieved that there appeared to be no physical damage to the property. The locks were changed and I went home to decompress after what was another very stressful day. Later that day, I got a text from the upstairs neighbor. Someone in the complex had seen the tenant walking around, carrying the eviction notice. And that is the last that I've heard from her.
In the next day or so, I feverishly called around to find a moving company but then got so many offers of help from friends and family that I decided we could move it all ourselves. I wasn't expecting the tenant to claim the property and knew I wouldn't get much for the junk at a garage sale so I wanted to keep costs down. Legally I had to store the property for 15 days and then post two advertisements about a "public sale," at least five days apart.
Here's where things get messy again. On Friday night the tenant's father contacted my real estate agent saying they wanted to collect her things. I told them that we were already set to move everything on Sunday and my cleaning lady was coming in Sunday afternoon. Since I didn't trust them to follow through on their word, I told them they either had to move it all on Saturday (so that I could check Saturday night and still move it Sunday if needed) or they had to use the movers that I had previously scheduled for Sunday morning and pay me cash in advance. I was even going to pay the difference if the move took longer than expected. Initially, the Dad agreed to pay $500 for the movers. I cancelled the Uhaul and rescheduled the movers. Within an hour he changed his tune and said he'd only pay $400 and that I had to make up the difference. Are you freakin' kidding me?!?! This human being is not my responsibility!!! I have two beautiful children of my own and I don't need to take on anyone else's responsibility. So I told him to fuck off.
We spent nine hours packing and moving all of her things into storage. Nine hours. With seven people. As I had been calling around for storage facilities, everyone suggested a ten by ten unit for a 700 square foot one bedroom condo. The last place that I called happened to have a ten by seventeen on special at the cheapest price of all that I called. And it's a good thing. We filled that thing to the brim along with a full dumpster!
Believe it or not, this wasn't the end. Sometime around Tuesday the Dad contacted my agent again, saying that he wanted the belongings and that I was required to allow him access without him having to pay. It's too bad that he didn't Google the law before he decided to blow me off in the first place. I put him in contact with my lawyer who ensured him that he needed to pay me back for moving expenses, storage expenses, and even for our time spent moving. I haven't heard back from him again.
I still have the garage sale ahead of me, moving all of her belongings out of storage, trying to get enough money to cover my expenses, and throwing the rest away. Half of the storage unit is filled with what I consider trash. I will be paying a junk company to come remove all of that. But until this last Thursday, I thought we were going to have smooth sailing.
Sometime in the middle of October, we moved the close of escrow date to November 5. But the lender kept delaying the appraisal. We were going to get them in there two weeks before the eviction but they didn't want the buyer to pay for it until the tenant was out for fear that she wasn't going to get out. Clearly they have no idea how an eviction works. Did they think that she'd be able to stay in there indefinitely even though I already had the judgement? So we pushed the close date to November 20 and the appraisal was done about a week after the eviction.
Fast forward to Monday, November 16. We're expecting loan docs to be ready. My agent calls the lender several times Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. Finally, after no response, he drives to the lender's office on Thursday. Turns out that the buyer has a tax issue and he needs to refile for a previous tax year. The lender claims that this will take 45 days. I'm freaking out at this point. The buyer has been in a tough spot because he had to move out of his previous residence on the fifth. He's desperate to move into my condo and rent back. But I've been advised from a friend that renting back should be a last resort. Even before that advice I was hesitant to rent back. There are so many ways that it could go wrong and I just can't deal with more trouble here. Thursday afternoon the lender said that the buyer was so desperate that he'd have first month's rent and security deposit to me the next day. But then nobody returned my agent's phone calls all day Friday.
He and I brainstormed Friday night. I'm basically screwed. My CPA said that realistically this could take three months. If that's the case, then I'm going to be in the market to buy a house for myself in February, right when the market is picking back up. Right now, in the off season market with prices a bit lower than they were in the summer, I can afford a house. Barely. Literally if prices go up at all, I won't be able to. The only other option is to find a new buyer. Well, it looks like we either oversold it or prices have just gone down. There's another unit listed for $6000 less, same floorplan, more upgrades, and it's been sitting on the market for a while. So in this option, I potentially lose $10,000 or more by finding a new buyer, which also won't work because I barely have enough for a down payment as it is. I'm screwed.
The plan that we came up with on Friday night was this: we will meet with the lender tomorrow. I may or may not attend depending on the feel that my agent gets when he speaks with them in the morning. We will set out a list of expectations that need to be met, otherwise we cancel escrow. Among the many things on the list are that they need to tell us exactly what the tax issue is, we need to speak with the CPA handling it, and I need to confirm the timeline with my CPA. If either CPA thinks the process will take more than 60 days, we're cancelling. In addition, the buyer needs to give me two months rent as a deposit (because now I know that that's how long an eviction takes) and he needs to pay my per diem, the exact amount that I'm paying including taxes on the condo. Lastly, the buyer needs to switch to using our lender.
My life is in a holding pattern that is completely out of my control, once again, and just when I thought that this mess was over. I'm really struggling with feelings of' "Why me?" and, "What did I do to deserve this?" Logically I know that I didn't do anything, that none of this is my fault. But my heart is hurting and I don't know how much more of this I can take. The thought of not being able to buy a house for myself and my kids is devastating. Knowing that the irresponsibility and unprofessional behavior of others has possibly taken me from a place where I could to a place where I can't is beyond frustrating. I'm trying really hard to keep myself positive and to realize that there might be some good that comes out of this. For example, had my tenant not stopped paying her rent, I wouldn't have known that she wasn't intending on moving out. I would have carried on, thinking that she would move out on September 30, and this entire process would have been pushed back more than a month. The missed rent was a blessing in disguise. I'm hoping that there's some light at the end of this sad, dark tunnel and I'm hoping that it involves a house.
Friday, July 3, 2015
UPDATED! Friday, July 3, 2015 ~ There's Something That You Should Know About Me
I'm not sitting around wishing, dreaming, and hoping for a man to come into my life. In fact, at this point in my life, I can't imagine dating again, let alone getting married again. I'm sure that my friends are well meaning when they mention my future husband or when they get disappointed when I tell them that I don't believe in marriage. I know that they want me to be happy. But what they don't understand is that I'm happier on my own than I'd been in a relationship in a long time. And I'm not just talking about the last year and a half of my marriage, when things were awful.
I don't know if it's my personality or the place I'm at in my life. I love people; I thrive when I'm in social environments. But when I'm home, I need time to be alone and do my own thing. I recently learned that this makes me an ambivert: a weird combination of an introvert and an extrovert. So I don't want someone waiting for me when I get home. Literally. I DON'T WANT someone at home.
I feel like there's got to be more that I can say to get my point across. But isn't this enough? I'm sure that you might be wondering why I don't believe in marriage (or long term relationships of any sort, for that matter), but I'll save that for another time.
Happy Fourth!
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
I was laying down during savasana in yoga tonight, thinking about the frozen yogurt that I was going to pick up on my way home. I was contemplating the perfect combination: cake batter froyo with a spoonful each of chocolate chips, chopped almonds, and cookie dough. Yes, I'm supposed to be in a meditative state during savasana, but I have a difficult time shutting down my brain. Distracting me even further was the lady who was breathing really loudly because she had a cold (not judging - I've been there).
You're probably wondering, "What in the world are you talking about and how does it relate to this post?"
Once I started contemplating the perfect frozen yogurt order, I thought about MSTBE and how he could never remember my standard order. It was always the same back then: half cake batter with cookie dough and half just chocolate with peanut butter cups. (Yes, I do like to overcomplicate my froyo orders.) That was the beginning of a train of thought that brought me back to this post.
I absolutely hope that I will meet a man that will care to pay attention enough to learn my frozen yogurt preferences. Or who will know that I like purses that have clean lines. Or who will make me laugh regularly. Or who will support me in everything that I do. Or who will build me up instead of tear me down. The list could go on and on.
But here's the difference between me now and me in the past. I'm not holding my breath waiting for that man to come around. I'm not putting my life on hold for him. I'm living my life. I'm doing what I want to be doing. I'm saving to buy a house. I'm loving my kids and my job and my family. I'm doing yoga and running. I'm working hard to make time for the people that mean the most to me.
I'm doing these things for a lot of reasons. I'm doing them because I want to be happy now; I'm not waiting to be happy when a certain man comes into my life. I'm doing them because there's no guarantee that this man will actually come into my life. In fact, at this point in my life, I don't believe that it's very likely that "he" will. So I'm living my life for me and for my kids. And it feels damn good!
I don't know if it's my personality or the place I'm at in my life. I love people; I thrive when I'm in social environments. But when I'm home, I need time to be alone and do my own thing. I recently learned that this makes me an ambivert: a weird combination of an introvert and an extrovert. So I don't want someone waiting for me when I get home. Literally. I DON'T WANT someone at home.
I feel like there's got to be more that I can say to get my point across. But isn't this enough? I'm sure that you might be wondering why I don't believe in marriage (or long term relationships of any sort, for that matter), but I'll save that for another time.
Happy Fourth!
Wednesday, July 8, 2015
I was laying down during savasana in yoga tonight, thinking about the frozen yogurt that I was going to pick up on my way home. I was contemplating the perfect combination: cake batter froyo with a spoonful each of chocolate chips, chopped almonds, and cookie dough. Yes, I'm supposed to be in a meditative state during savasana, but I have a difficult time shutting down my brain. Distracting me even further was the lady who was breathing really loudly because she had a cold (not judging - I've been there).
You're probably wondering, "What in the world are you talking about and how does it relate to this post?"
Once I started contemplating the perfect frozen yogurt order, I thought about MSTBE and how he could never remember my standard order. It was always the same back then: half cake batter with cookie dough and half just chocolate with peanut butter cups. (Yes, I do like to overcomplicate my froyo orders.) That was the beginning of a train of thought that brought me back to this post.
I absolutely hope that I will meet a man that will care to pay attention enough to learn my frozen yogurt preferences. Or who will know that I like purses that have clean lines. Or who will make me laugh regularly. Or who will support me in everything that I do. Or who will build me up instead of tear me down. The list could go on and on.
But here's the difference between me now and me in the past. I'm not holding my breath waiting for that man to come around. I'm not putting my life on hold for him. I'm living my life. I'm doing what I want to be doing. I'm saving to buy a house. I'm loving my kids and my job and my family. I'm doing yoga and running. I'm working hard to make time for the people that mean the most to me.
I'm doing these things for a lot of reasons. I'm doing them because I want to be happy now; I'm not waiting to be happy when a certain man comes into my life. I'm doing them because there's no guarantee that this man will actually come into my life. In fact, at this point in my life, I don't believe that it's very likely that "he" will. So I'm living my life for me and for my kids. And it feels damn good!
Thursday, May 21, 2015
May 21, 2015 ~ When Is It Going to Stop Hurting?
An unexpected explosion of emotion, that's the only way that I can describe it. Tonight, after a fun event with some girlfriends, for which I bought a new cocktail dress and shoes, had my hair done by a professional, painted my nails, and spent more time on my make up than I have in the last week combined, I had an unexpected explosion of emotion.
On the way to the event, I had to drive near the neighborhood in which I would say that my divorce "happened." We lived in this neighborhood for a short two years. I don't drive through this neighborhood in which my divorce happened very often anymore because I live about 10 miles north, work is in the opposite direction, and I have everything that I need nearby. Driving on the main street that is tangent to the neighborhood brought back some emotions but, with the anticipation of a fun night on my mind, I was able to push those emotions out of my mind. On the way home from the event, there was night time traffic on the main street below the actual neighborhood that we lived in. Being the impatient person that I am, I turned up a street to avoid the traffic because I knew that going through the neighborhood would be much faster. Almost immediately I regretted the shortcut.
As I drove up the hill, I started feeling anxious. When I made the left turn into the neighborhood, I couldn't stop the tears. Initially, the tears were induced from the memory of all of the long walks that I took, taking me and my son to the furthest part of the neighborhood, to either avoid what I was trying to deny or to avoid what I had finally admitted. As I got closer to the house, I remembered the first times that I had taken my son to the small park across the street to get out of the house and have breakfast, just me and him. And as I drove down the hill, I remembered the night that we all moved into the house and MSTBE and I got take out Italian from the restaurant that I drove past tonight, seemingly a happy family with a new beginning. It was like experiencing my divorce in reverse. It took me from the worst time in my marriage to a time when I still thought that there was hope, completely in denial of the reality that I knew, deep in my heart, was immanent.
Once I left the neighborhood, still unable to stop the tears, I was trying to figure out what had caused them. There's not a fiber of my being that wishes that things were different between me and MSTBE. "Why am I crying, no, sobbing, uncontrollably?" Thirty minutes later, changed out of my dress and the shoes that were about to break each of my feet in two, lying in bed, I can't answer that question. So here's the real question: when is it going to stop hurting?
On the way to the event, I had to drive near the neighborhood in which I would say that my divorce "happened." We lived in this neighborhood for a short two years. I don't drive through this neighborhood in which my divorce happened very often anymore because I live about 10 miles north, work is in the opposite direction, and I have everything that I need nearby. Driving on the main street that is tangent to the neighborhood brought back some emotions but, with the anticipation of a fun night on my mind, I was able to push those emotions out of my mind. On the way home from the event, there was night time traffic on the main street below the actual neighborhood that we lived in. Being the impatient person that I am, I turned up a street to avoid the traffic because I knew that going through the neighborhood would be much faster. Almost immediately I regretted the shortcut.
As I drove up the hill, I started feeling anxious. When I made the left turn into the neighborhood, I couldn't stop the tears. Initially, the tears were induced from the memory of all of the long walks that I took, taking me and my son to the furthest part of the neighborhood, to either avoid what I was trying to deny or to avoid what I had finally admitted. As I got closer to the house, I remembered the first times that I had taken my son to the small park across the street to get out of the house and have breakfast, just me and him. And as I drove down the hill, I remembered the night that we all moved into the house and MSTBE and I got take out Italian from the restaurant that I drove past tonight, seemingly a happy family with a new beginning. It was like experiencing my divorce in reverse. It took me from the worst time in my marriage to a time when I still thought that there was hope, completely in denial of the reality that I knew, deep in my heart, was immanent.
Once I left the neighborhood, still unable to stop the tears, I was trying to figure out what had caused them. There's not a fiber of my being that wishes that things were different between me and MSTBE. "Why am I crying, no, sobbing, uncontrollably?" Thirty minutes later, changed out of my dress and the shoes that were about to break each of my feet in two, lying in bed, I can't answer that question. So here's the real question: when is it going to stop hurting?
Monday, April 20, 2015
April 20, 2015 ~ My Faith in Humanity, Restored
And when I say humanity, what I really mean is huMANity. My brothers and step Dad have restored my faith in men.
(First, let me mention that my Dad has always been my rock. The only reason that he's not in this post is because I didn't ask him to come early to my daughter's party to help me out. And even though she's not a man, I feel like I need to mention that my Mom isn't a part of this story because she was really sick.)
Yesterday was my daughter's second birthday party. My brothers both came over early to help me with the prep work. When my younger brother arrived, I asked him to hang some flower balloons that I made. I was reminded that it is possible to ask for help, give minimal direction, and trust that the job will be done well. I didn't have to explain in detail what I meant when I said that I wanted them hung "alternating colors." He said what he thought that I meant, he was right, and he hung the balloons. He hung them so that they were all similar heights and he adjusted the plan that I mentioned according to the number of balloons that I had made. I asked him to take care of filling the cooler with ice and beer and a bucket with ice and kids' drinks. He decided that filling the cooler at the time was a good idea but that he should wait to fill the bucket since it didn't have a lid and the ice would melt before people arrived. And, crazy as it sounds, the first time that there was a lull in preparation when it was closer to the start of the party, he went outside and filled the bucket without me having to ask.
I'm seriously getting tears in my eyes as I type this. You probably think I'm crazy, but I'll explain.
In addition, both of my brothers helped me make tea sandwiches, again with very minimal instructions, and my younger brother helped me make butterflies with pretzels and dip (good 'ole Pinterest has made my parties so much more festive). When I gave him minimal instructions, he asked me to show him what it is that I wanted them to look like so that he didn't mess up the prep work that I had already done with them. I showed him one and he completed the rest.
Not only were all of the tasks done well, but they were done with love. Care went into them.
After everyone had left and I got the kids to bed, I laid down to relax for a little while before I went downstairs to do a crap ton of dishes and finish putting things away. I fell asleep. For an hour. When I went downstairs, my step Dad had emptied the clean dishes out of the dishwasher and put them away, loaded the dirty dishes that could go into the dishwasher, folded up the tables and brought them inside, and had started hand washing the dishes that couldn't go in the dishwasher. He actually knew which dishes were too delicate for the dishwasher! And he took the initiative to help me out!
You're probably thinking that I'm talking down to men; that I'm an angry divorced women who thinks that all men are awful and can't believe it when she's presented with men who are competent. Let me be clear: when I say these things, I don't mean them to sound degrading to men. The real deal is that it's as if I've been in some kind of one-man cult for the past nine years. I've been brainwashed. I've been conditioned to have to give detailed instructions without sounding too demanding, without emasculating, without controlling. I've had to figure out if it was worth asking for help when I knew that the help that I was going to get would be half assed, by someone who really didn't care if he did a good job. Was the frustration of a product that was the result of no heart worth the time saved or would it be easier just to do it all myself?
So let me explain. The tears that are welling up in my eyes are because I've been reminded by three men who have always been and always will be competent, helpful, loving, and caring that there are men out there who like to do a good job. They have helped me realize that I am not a person who is impossible to deal with and too demanding, that I am not too controlling and that my expectations are not too high. It may sound so simple to you, brothers and step Dad helping out for their niece/granddaughter's birthday, but it wasn't simple to me. It was a reminder of who I am. It helped me realize that some of the traits that I had labeled myself with while being in this one-man cult just aren't true characterizations. And I'm relieved.
And just for fun, here's a picture of my daughter, because it's her party and she'll cry (and tantrum) if she wants to.
(First, let me mention that my Dad has always been my rock. The only reason that he's not in this post is because I didn't ask him to come early to my daughter's party to help me out. And even though she's not a man, I feel like I need to mention that my Mom isn't a part of this story because she was really sick.)
I'm seriously getting tears in my eyes as I type this. You probably think I'm crazy, but I'll explain.
In addition, both of my brothers helped me make tea sandwiches, again with very minimal instructions, and my younger brother helped me make butterflies with pretzels and dip (good 'ole Pinterest has made my parties so much more festive). When I gave him minimal instructions, he asked me to show him what it is that I wanted them to look like so that he didn't mess up the prep work that I had already done with them. I showed him one and he completed the rest.Not only were all of the tasks done well, but they were done with love. Care went into them.
After everyone had left and I got the kids to bed, I laid down to relax for a little while before I went downstairs to do a crap ton of dishes and finish putting things away. I fell asleep. For an hour. When I went downstairs, my step Dad had emptied the clean dishes out of the dishwasher and put them away, loaded the dirty dishes that could go into the dishwasher, folded up the tables and brought them inside, and had started hand washing the dishes that couldn't go in the dishwasher. He actually knew which dishes were too delicate for the dishwasher! And he took the initiative to help me out!
You're probably thinking that I'm talking down to men; that I'm an angry divorced women who thinks that all men are awful and can't believe it when she's presented with men who are competent. Let me be clear: when I say these things, I don't mean them to sound degrading to men. The real deal is that it's as if I've been in some kind of one-man cult for the past nine years. I've been brainwashed. I've been conditioned to have to give detailed instructions without sounding too demanding, without emasculating, without controlling. I've had to figure out if it was worth asking for help when I knew that the help that I was going to get would be half assed, by someone who really didn't care if he did a good job. Was the frustration of a product that was the result of no heart worth the time saved or would it be easier just to do it all myself?
So let me explain. The tears that are welling up in my eyes are because I've been reminded by three men who have always been and always will be competent, helpful, loving, and caring that there are men out there who like to do a good job. They have helped me realize that I am not a person who is impossible to deal with and too demanding, that I am not too controlling and that my expectations are not too high. It may sound so simple to you, brothers and step Dad helping out for their niece/granddaughter's birthday, but it wasn't simple to me. It was a reminder of who I am. It helped me realize that some of the traits that I had labeled myself with while being in this one-man cult just aren't true characterizations. And I'm relieved.
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
April 7, 2015 ~ A Lesson for the Twenty-Somethings
I am incredibly lucky to have met a great group of ladies that started with a new Moms group that I joined when my son was only a few weeks old. Throughout the years, our group has grown in so many ways: more Moms have joined our circle, more babies have been born, and more love has evolved. We are all passionate about our children and make them top priority in our lives. One thing that makes this group of women so exceptional is that there is never any judgment. We all differ in so many ways but I have always felt supported by these women. They came to my rescue with food and help around the house when I threw my back out shortly after having my daughter was born. They have been caring and have offered a listening ear through my divorce. Every time I am around them I feel lifted up and supported.
As all new Moms have, we were told over and over again not to lose ourselves in our children. "Be sure to keep your identity in whatever ways possible." I heard it a thousand times and vowed that I wouldn't lose my identity as a person outside of being a Mom. But when you love a little human so immensely, you want to put all of your energy into making that person happy. And when you don't get a whole lot of help from your significant other, it's almost impossible to lead a balanced life. Without a doubt, I have lost myself in the almost four years since my son was born.
The "Moms" and I occasionally get together for girls' night but the majority of the times that we get together are child-centered, at birthday parties and play dates. When we do get out, we certainly enjoy ourselves. Last night some of us went to a Maroon 5 concert. Throughout the night, I noticed so many people sitting, staring at their phones, checking facebook or Twitter or sending email. They almost looked bored. Or like zombies. They may or may not have been annoyed by the Moms in the row behind them, dancing, singing, yelling, laughing, and having a fantastic time. But if they would have paid attention, they could have learned something from us. Instead of looking at a group of Moms who are whooping it up and thinking, "They need to get out more" (I know I used to think that) how about realizing that life is short? Let's enjoy the ride whenever we can and while we can.
As I am getting used to my daughter now spending three nights a week at MSTBE's house, having an empty house on those nights, I'm learning to reconnect with myself, redevelop hobbies that have gone by the wayside, and most importantly, to have fun. I feel like a person again, not just a Mom, and I am happier and more fulfilled. (If you know me or my blog at all, you know that I'm not saying that being a Mom is a bad thing but being only a Mom, not allowing yourself to have any other identity, can be.) I'm learning to get out there and have fun to the full extent possible when the opportunity presents itself. And to make myself a priority.
I leave you with a quote that I came across recently by Bipasha Basu, an Indian actress:
As all new Moms have, we were told over and over again not to lose ourselves in our children. "Be sure to keep your identity in whatever ways possible." I heard it a thousand times and vowed that I wouldn't lose my identity as a person outside of being a Mom. But when you love a little human so immensely, you want to put all of your energy into making that person happy. And when you don't get a whole lot of help from your significant other, it's almost impossible to lead a balanced life. Without a doubt, I have lost myself in the almost four years since my son was born.
The "Moms" and I occasionally get together for girls' night but the majority of the times that we get together are child-centered, at birthday parties and play dates. When we do get out, we certainly enjoy ourselves. Last night some of us went to a Maroon 5 concert. Throughout the night, I noticed so many people sitting, staring at their phones, checking facebook or Twitter or sending email. They almost looked bored. Or like zombies. They may or may not have been annoyed by the Moms in the row behind them, dancing, singing, yelling, laughing, and having a fantastic time. But if they would have paid attention, they could have learned something from us. Instead of looking at a group of Moms who are whooping it up and thinking, "They need to get out more" (I know I used to think that) how about realizing that life is short? Let's enjoy the ride whenever we can and while we can.
As I am getting used to my daughter now spending three nights a week at MSTBE's house, having an empty house on those nights, I'm learning to reconnect with myself, redevelop hobbies that have gone by the wayside, and most importantly, to have fun. I feel like a person again, not just a Mom, and I am happier and more fulfilled. (If you know me or my blog at all, you know that I'm not saying that being a Mom is a bad thing but being only a Mom, not allowing yourself to have any other identity, can be.) I'm learning to get out there and have fun to the full extent possible when the opportunity presents itself. And to make myself a priority.
I leave you with a quote that I came across recently by Bipasha Basu, an Indian actress:
"I want to tell women that you need to love yourself and make yourself a priority. It's only when you are happy yourself, can you make everyone else around you happy. I am still a dreamer and believe in fairy tales, but there is only that much on should give another person. You need to keep something for yourself."
Saturday, April 4, 2015
April 4, 2015 ~ And the Alternate Universe Continues
Tonight was the first weekend night that both of my babies slept away from me. And I was lucky enough to have my oldest friend, the friend that I've known longer than anyone else, the girl who has been there for me through so many crazy things in my life, go out with me for dinner and drinks.
We sat down for dinner at the sushi bar and shortly afterward, a new person was seated to my left. I had been turned to my right talking to my friend the whole time but I got distracted by the new person to my left. It was an attractive male sitting next to an older gentleman and he appeared to be helping him out in some way. At one point, I turned to my left and he turned to his right at the same time. Being that I'm not interested in a relationship or picking up on a guy, I had no problem just talking to him, despite his attractiveness, which would have made me nervous in the past, and mentioned how weird it was to sit next to someone with your back turned to them. I turned back to my friend but he continued the conversation by asking what was good. I answered and at another point, a few minutes later, I turned again and joined the conversation when the older gentleman asked about what I had just discussed with the younger gentleman.
As my friend and I were winding down our evening, I went to the restroom, where I do my best thinking (weird, I know), and wondered how I would respond if he asked me for my number. I was attracted to him but couldn't even imagine how I could date at this time in my life. My thought was that I'd give him my number and tell him upon the first phone call what my situation is.
And then what?
When I got back from the restroom, he was gone, in the restroom I assumed because the older gentleman was still there, and he came back a minute or two later. We locked eyes for a minute and I thought about starting up a conversation but decided against it.
I won't be the persuer again. I sincerely believe that the man needs to be the persuer. This probably sounds sexist but I believe in biology. I believe that men need to feel like the persuer and I believe that it's important for a woman to feel persued.
The world with me dating doesn't even exist in my mind, yet I have no problem striking up a conversation with an attractive gentleman at the sushi bar.
This is an alternate universe. One night I have bath and bedtime at 6 pm and another night I'm striking up a convo at the sushi bar until 10 pm.
We sat down for dinner at the sushi bar and shortly afterward, a new person was seated to my left. I had been turned to my right talking to my friend the whole time but I got distracted by the new person to my left. It was an attractive male sitting next to an older gentleman and he appeared to be helping him out in some way. At one point, I turned to my left and he turned to his right at the same time. Being that I'm not interested in a relationship or picking up on a guy, I had no problem just talking to him, despite his attractiveness, which would have made me nervous in the past, and mentioned how weird it was to sit next to someone with your back turned to them. I turned back to my friend but he continued the conversation by asking what was good. I answered and at another point, a few minutes later, I turned again and joined the conversation when the older gentleman asked about what I had just discussed with the younger gentleman.
As my friend and I were winding down our evening, I went to the restroom, where I do my best thinking (weird, I know), and wondered how I would respond if he asked me for my number. I was attracted to him but couldn't even imagine how I could date at this time in my life. My thought was that I'd give him my number and tell him upon the first phone call what my situation is.
And then what?
When I got back from the restroom, he was gone, in the restroom I assumed because the older gentleman was still there, and he came back a minute or two later. We locked eyes for a minute and I thought about starting up a conversation but decided against it.
I won't be the persuer again. I sincerely believe that the man needs to be the persuer. This probably sounds sexist but I believe in biology. I believe that men need to feel like the persuer and I believe that it's important for a woman to feel persued.
The world with me dating doesn't even exist in my mind, yet I have no problem striking up a conversation with an attractive gentleman at the sushi bar.
This is an alternate universe. One night I have bath and bedtime at 6 pm and another night I'm striking up a convo at the sushi bar until 10 pm.
Sunday, March 29, 2015
March 29, 2015 ~ A Day That I've Been Dreading for a Very Long Time
I got a lump in my throat tonight when I walked into my daughter's room to put her laundry away and saw her empty crib. I thought, "No, I'm not ready for this. I want to take it back." But this isn't about me. This is about doing what's best for my kids.
I started to make this post about the logistics of the day and told the story about driving 20 minutes to MSTBE's because my daughter had changed her mind about spending the night only to learn that she really didn't want to change her mind, followed by receiving a text from MSTBE seconds before pulling back into my driveway 20 minutes later saying that I should come and get her because she was upset. (She ended up being fine and I didn't go back.) But I don't think that is the story that you want to hear. Logistics are boring. The emotions are what a diary is all about and why I'm really writing this blog. So here goes...
All week long I had a pretty good feeling that tonight was going to be the first night that my baby girl spent the night outside of my house for the first time. She's been asking to spend the night at MSTBE's for about two weeks and she's taken a nap there several times on the weekend. As much as I've been dreading this day and feeling absolutely and completely not ready for it, I had found a way to put a positive spin on it. I got excited about being able to do yoga for the first time since she was born. (I did prenatal yoga throughout both of my pregnancies because my body needed it badly; other than that, I had never made time for it since my son was born.) I started thinking about how I was going to spend my day and night and about all of the things that have been hanging over my head that I'd be able to get done. Today I even started thinking about the notion of waking up for work in the morning and only having myself to worry about getting ready. What a novel idea. These were exciting prospects. Exciting enough to distract me from the reality of an empty crib.
I went to yoga, which felt fantastic for so many reasons. I did four load of laundry. I washed all of our sheets and made all of our beds. I hung up all of the laundry, which is something that almost never gets done. I updated my budget and sat down to really spend some time analyzing it. I made a roast. I did dishes (because there are always dishes to do). I went to a restaurant for a couple of hours with my family. I made ranch dressing from scratch. I watched a little bit of TV.
I won't lie. It feels nice to have had some me time and some quiet time. But it's also difficult seeing that empty crib.
What I have to remind myself is what I said at the top of this post: this isn't about me. My kids need their Dad. If she's ready to start spending nights there, then that's what is going to happen. Never in my life will I hold my kids back from something because I'm not ready for it to happen. I will challenge them and push them forward, not hinder them. I will support them and their desires even if they conflict with my wants and needs. I will always focus on what is best for them. Because they are the loves of my life.
I started to make this post about the logistics of the day and told the story about driving 20 minutes to MSTBE's because my daughter had changed her mind about spending the night only to learn that she really didn't want to change her mind, followed by receiving a text from MSTBE seconds before pulling back into my driveway 20 minutes later saying that I should come and get her because she was upset. (She ended up being fine and I didn't go back.) But I don't think that is the story that you want to hear. Logistics are boring. The emotions are what a diary is all about and why I'm really writing this blog. So here goes...
All week long I had a pretty good feeling that tonight was going to be the first night that my baby girl spent the night outside of my house for the first time. She's been asking to spend the night at MSTBE's for about two weeks and she's taken a nap there several times on the weekend. As much as I've been dreading this day and feeling absolutely and completely not ready for it, I had found a way to put a positive spin on it. I got excited about being able to do yoga for the first time since she was born. (I did prenatal yoga throughout both of my pregnancies because my body needed it badly; other than that, I had never made time for it since my son was born.) I started thinking about how I was going to spend my day and night and about all of the things that have been hanging over my head that I'd be able to get done. Today I even started thinking about the notion of waking up for work in the morning and only having myself to worry about getting ready. What a novel idea. These were exciting prospects. Exciting enough to distract me from the reality of an empty crib.
I went to yoga, which felt fantastic for so many reasons. I did four load of laundry. I washed all of our sheets and made all of our beds. I hung up all of the laundry, which is something that almost never gets done. I updated my budget and sat down to really spend some time analyzing it. I made a roast. I did dishes (because there are always dishes to do). I went to a restaurant for a couple of hours with my family. I made ranch dressing from scratch. I watched a little bit of TV.
I won't lie. It feels nice to have had some me time and some quiet time. But it's also difficult seeing that empty crib.
What I have to remind myself is what I said at the top of this post: this isn't about me. My kids need their Dad. If she's ready to start spending nights there, then that's what is going to happen. Never in my life will I hold my kids back from something because I'm not ready for it to happen. I will challenge them and push them forward, not hinder them. I will support them and their desires even if they conflict with my wants and needs. I will always focus on what is best for them. Because they are the loves of my life.
Sunday, March 8, 2015
March 8, 2015 ~ I Just Can't Get It Through My Thick Skull
I'm faced with a particular lesson time after time, one that you're probably faced with fairly regularly as well, and I just can't get it through my thick skull. You see, I have high expectations. Probably too high. My Dad always expected a lot out of my brothers and me when we were kids because he knew that we could achieve to those expectations. My Advanced Placement US History teacher put it well my junior year in high school. He said that he had high expectations of us so that we would rise to the challenge in his class; if he lowered his expectations then we wouldn't rise as high.
Well, I have high expectations in many aspects of my life, mostly of myself, which is why I beat myself up quite often when I don't perform well or when I don't handle myself well in a difficult situation. But I also have high expectations of those around me. The lesson that I need to learn, that needs to be bashed into my head over and over again, is that people are who they are no matter how high your expectations of them are. A father/daughter or student/teacher relationship is a completely different scenario than most relationships and the concept of high expectations doesn't really translate. You can have all the expectations that you want in a friendship or romantic relationship or even in family relationships outside of parent to child but the other person really is who they are and they will continue to behave the way the do no matter your expectations of them.
I sincerely believe (and have for a very long time) that expectations in relationships are one of the main reasons for failures. I'm talking about all kinds of expectations. It might be an expectation that has been embedded in your head from a TV show about how a marriage is "supposed to" look. Or it might be the way that you expect a special event or vacation will go. Or you might expect that a person will change their behavior when they "grow up" or when you get married or when you have a baby. Either way, the reality is likely not going to live up to the expectation, which will undoubtedly lead to disappointment.
Sometimes I think that I set up expectations of the way something is going to go without considering the normal behavior of others. It's a very short sighted way of looking at things and also often leads to disappointment.
Considering that I've believed for a very long time that expectations in relationships are generally evil, long before I ever got married, you would think that I'd be better about not setting myself up for these disappointments. But I'm not. And to make matters worse, I still allow myself to be saddened by people's behavior when they don't meet my high expectations, even if it is typical behavior for them. I have known for a very long time that I need to work on becoming more accepting of people's shortcomings, including my own. I know that gaining this skill will improve my relationships but, more importantly, it will make me a happier, more satisfied person.
Well, I have high expectations in many aspects of my life, mostly of myself, which is why I beat myself up quite often when I don't perform well or when I don't handle myself well in a difficult situation. But I also have high expectations of those around me. The lesson that I need to learn, that needs to be bashed into my head over and over again, is that people are who they are no matter how high your expectations of them are. A father/daughter or student/teacher relationship is a completely different scenario than most relationships and the concept of high expectations doesn't really translate. You can have all the expectations that you want in a friendship or romantic relationship or even in family relationships outside of parent to child but the other person really is who they are and they will continue to behave the way the do no matter your expectations of them.
I sincerely believe (and have for a very long time) that expectations in relationships are one of the main reasons for failures. I'm talking about all kinds of expectations. It might be an expectation that has been embedded in your head from a TV show about how a marriage is "supposed to" look. Or it might be the way that you expect a special event or vacation will go. Or you might expect that a person will change their behavior when they "grow up" or when you get married or when you have a baby. Either way, the reality is likely not going to live up to the expectation, which will undoubtedly lead to disappointment.
Sometimes I think that I set up expectations of the way something is going to go without considering the normal behavior of others. It's a very short sighted way of looking at things and also often leads to disappointment.
Considering that I've believed for a very long time that expectations in relationships are generally evil, long before I ever got married, you would think that I'd be better about not setting myself up for these disappointments. But I'm not. And to make matters worse, I still allow myself to be saddened by people's behavior when they don't meet my high expectations, even if it is typical behavior for them. I have known for a very long time that I need to work on becoming more accepting of people's shortcomings, including my own. I know that gaining this skill will improve my relationships but, more importantly, it will make me a happier, more satisfied person.
Sunday, March 1, 2015
March 1, 2015 ~ The Beginning of Another New Chapter
Yesterday was the first day that my daughter napped at MSTBE's house. Once she gets used to napping there, she will spend her first night there and eventually she will spend three nights a week there, like my son does now. I have been both dreading and looking forward to this new beginning for a very long time.
I'm not sure if I can explain how this impeding change has made me feel so that someone who hasn't been through this could understand it, but I'm going to try. I can't even come up with the right words for the feelings I'm experiencing. I started to type the words "fear and sadness" but that seems a bit too dramatic. However it is a little bit of fear and a little bit of sadness and a little bit of a whole lot more, particularly because my daughter is my baby, my last child. It was difficult when my son started napping at MSTBE's house but this feels more difficult because of my daughter's age. (My son was almost three years old when MSTBE and I split and he didn't start napping at MSTBE's house right away. My daughter isn't quite two yet.)
I held on to my marriage for much longer than I should have partly because I did not want to spend nights with my kids sleeping outside of my house. I think that all parents understand the feeling of comfort that comes with knowing that your kids are tucked in safely just on the other side of a wall or down the hall. Well, that's a comfort that's been cut in half since my son started sleeping at MSTBE's, and soon enough it will be gone completely three nights per week.
But there's also a feeling of helplessness, knowing that I won't be there when they need something. I want to be there if either of them has a nightmare and when they get sick in the middle of the night, but I won't always be able to be that comfort for them. I know that this helpless feeling will willow away as my kids get older and more self sufficient; it's easier to deal with in regard to my son because he is two years older than my daughter. But I can't imagine that it will ever be gone completely.
The worst part though is that I will miss out on 3/7ths of all of the goodnight kisses and reading books and snuggles. There is so much bonding that goes on at bedtime and I truly miss those moments with my son. It seems like it will be more difficult to give up those moments with my daughter though because, at this age, I still rock with her in a rocking chair and gently place her in her crib to fall asleep. She still wants me to sing to her every single night after we read books.
How do I get through this? The same way that I get through everything. When I find myself wallowing in fear or sorrow or sadness, I remember that there is a positive side to every situation.
I know that my life is very unbalanced right now and that I get zero time to do things for myself. I know that living this way is unhealthy. I know that it effects my mood and my ability to be the best Mom that I can be. Once I have a little bit more time to myself, I'm going to dedicate a good portion of it not to doing more around the house or working more but to doing things that make me happy. I will start doing yoga and running and cooking more. I will spend some time with friends outside the context of playdates. And as I get more comfortable with the idea of having a bit of time to myself, I am certain that I will develop new hobbies or rekindle my love for old ones that I've forgotten about. These are the reasons that I have felt a little bit of anticipation, why I have actually been looking forward to what will be a difficult change for me. I know that it will be a positive change for everyone.
I'm not sure if I can explain how this impeding change has made me feel so that someone who hasn't been through this could understand it, but I'm going to try. I can't even come up with the right words for the feelings I'm experiencing. I started to type the words "fear and sadness" but that seems a bit too dramatic. However it is a little bit of fear and a little bit of sadness and a little bit of a whole lot more, particularly because my daughter is my baby, my last child. It was difficult when my son started napping at MSTBE's house but this feels more difficult because of my daughter's age. (My son was almost three years old when MSTBE and I split and he didn't start napping at MSTBE's house right away. My daughter isn't quite two yet.)
I held on to my marriage for much longer than I should have partly because I did not want to spend nights with my kids sleeping outside of my house. I think that all parents understand the feeling of comfort that comes with knowing that your kids are tucked in safely just on the other side of a wall or down the hall. Well, that's a comfort that's been cut in half since my son started sleeping at MSTBE's, and soon enough it will be gone completely three nights per week.
But there's also a feeling of helplessness, knowing that I won't be there when they need something. I want to be there if either of them has a nightmare and when they get sick in the middle of the night, but I won't always be able to be that comfort for them. I know that this helpless feeling will willow away as my kids get older and more self sufficient; it's easier to deal with in regard to my son because he is two years older than my daughter. But I can't imagine that it will ever be gone completely.
The worst part though is that I will miss out on 3/7ths of all of the goodnight kisses and reading books and snuggles. There is so much bonding that goes on at bedtime and I truly miss those moments with my son. It seems like it will be more difficult to give up those moments with my daughter though because, at this age, I still rock with her in a rocking chair and gently place her in her crib to fall asleep. She still wants me to sing to her every single night after we read books.
How do I get through this? The same way that I get through everything. When I find myself wallowing in fear or sorrow or sadness, I remember that there is a positive side to every situation.
I know that my life is very unbalanced right now and that I get zero time to do things for myself. I know that living this way is unhealthy. I know that it effects my mood and my ability to be the best Mom that I can be. Once I have a little bit more time to myself, I'm going to dedicate a good portion of it not to doing more around the house or working more but to doing things that make me happy. I will start doing yoga and running and cooking more. I will spend some time with friends outside the context of playdates. And as I get more comfortable with the idea of having a bit of time to myself, I am certain that I will develop new hobbies or rekindle my love for old ones that I've forgotten about. These are the reasons that I have felt a little bit of anticipation, why I have actually been looking forward to what will be a difficult change for me. I know that it will be a positive change for everyone.
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