The nervous voms

We put another offer on a house.  Then they counter-offered and we had to decide what to do about it. I ended the night scrolling through pictures of adoptable dogs on the Internet to calm myself down. Except I did not calm down and I haven't calmed down since.

This house is at the top of our budget. Slightly over it, actually. Let's break down the reasons this makes me want to nervous vomit all over the place.

1. This is a house that we cannot afford on just D's salary. If we buy this house and have children we will struggle to allow me to stay home for six months and then I will have to go back to work. End of story.


2. D$ makes really good money. What the fuck is wrong with me that I want to buy a house that isn't affordable on a salary that is more than the combined salary of almost everyone I know? How is that even possible?  What is it that I think I need that can cost so much money? 


3. The house has three bedrooms. It has a dining room, a garage, a full basement. It is cute. I feel like buying this house (when I could buy a smaller house in a not-as-nice neighborhood for an amount that would allow me to take more time off of work) I am selling my future children down the river so that I can have nicer "stuff." Wrapping my  hypothetical babies up in blankets and leaving them on a church doorstep so that I can have a guest bedroom.*


4. What happens if we become miserable in our jobs and cannot follow our dreams because of our mortgage? What happens if we lose our jobs? 

Of course there are counter arguments: the neighborhood has the best elementary school in the state. Those three bedrooms mean that we can live in this house with our children for many many years without having to move again. It's a really good price for the neighborhood and the amount of space.  I don't know if I would want to stay home anyway. We have free, amazing childcare in my mom(s) so staying home is a bad financial decision regardless of the price of the home we buy (not to mention the impact on my career, independence, etc). 

All of these facts did nothing to soothe the ache in my gut when I think about 1-4 above. None of these facts eased the guilt I felt about not living in a dirt-floored cabin, sharing a bed with my children, and Living Simply So That Others May Simply Live. That rationale did not stop me from wondering what our (artist/teacher/librarian) friends will think when they see it. Will they whistle under their breath and decide we must have lots of money, then hate me when I am home with a baby and stingy about going out because of the cost? 

Really, I should have had this freak out a long time ago. When we set our housing budget D$ told me what the top of the budget meant. I knew it. But I didn't know it. Now - now that I was deciding if I wanted to  sign my name to documents that will commit me to that amount of money -  well I sorta started to lose my shit. I second guessed my priorities. I doubted what I thought I knew. I spoke to my dad on speakerphone while huddled in a ball on a stool but failed to be swayed by his advice. It felt like there was basically no way for me to know if we were doing the right thing. 

*      *      *      *      *

After hours of deliberation we took a deep breathe and counter-offered back. Neither one of us felt good, or sure, or remotely sane. 

Today, they countered (again, these assholes!) with something we'd considered offering. 

And I was excited. D$ was excited. 

Hopefully, that's all we need to know. 

We're gonna accept. 

*D$ rightly pointed out that the third thought is pretty much 100% about me. I don't think that D$'s choice to work is selling our kids down the river, do I? 

On the hunt

Woodpiles along the street in Portland, Oregon, 1939

Dorotha Lange via the Library of Congress

So, remember how I said that D$ and I were going to try and stay still for a while? Yea, turned out to be a total lie.

We are house hunting. Have been since July. It's been a process.

First we had to have a huge fight about where to look for houses. We are committed to being in the city so this mostly meant that I had to deal with several days of white guilt about my choices of a) choosing an already wealthy neighborhood with really good schools but limited diversity or b) choosing a rapidly gentrifying neighborhood where I would loathe half of my neighbors (white hipsters in faux native American head-ware) and fear that the other half of my neighbors (primarily low-income minorities being pushed out of the neighborhood) hated me.

Once that was done we had to decide a budget, the amount of which hangs precipitously on whether I think that I'm going to want to stay home for more than six months after we have a baby. (Cause that's such an easy thing to know in advance). Then we had to make a spreadsheet of "must haves" and "would likes" and compare that to our budget and other life priorities.*

Finally, we got a Realtor. She is a truly a wonderful unicorn of a person. She gives us great advice, points out potential flaws, and makes jokes about key parties. Unfortunately, most of the houses we'd looked at have had some sort of fatal flaw: rancid stench of cat pee, weird leaks, hideous renovations, etc. We fell deeply in love with one house only to have our Realtor look at me sadly, put her hand on my shoulder, and tell me that the the "vintage" brick foundation would crumple to dust in the earthquake for which Oregon is 300 miles overdue.**

By late October we were starting to get depressed (and, grouchy).

Two weeks ago we found a perfectly great house that was priced really reasonably and was within two blocks of a  well-ranked elementary school. It also had three offers within a day of listing. We decided to throw our hats in the ring and made an offer late on a Sunday night. We spent the next 36 hours not-sleeping and willing our phones to ring. Tuesday morning we found out we hadn't gotten it - we were the runners up.

The search continues.


*The jury is still out on the whole "time home with hypothetical baby" versus "pricier house with two bathrooms so I can poop in peace" debate. I mean, think about it this way: if it turns out I can't have kids anyway I'm going to be mad as fuck about giving up that second bathroom.
**Two days after we looked at the house (and were mooning over it) there was a presentation from a geologist at my work. She basically said about the earthquake:  it is not a question of if, it is a question of when. Then she told me to make myself an emergency pack and showed me detailed slides of how fucked Portland will be when the earthquake hits. I went home and told D$ that I'd had a sign from God not to buy the house. 

My season

Deception Pass State Park, by D$

It's been wet and grey here in Portland this weekend, and I am blissful. 

Autumn has arrived, bringing me peace. 

It drizzled all day yesterday and is drizzling today. Leaves adorn the sidewalks and the air smells fresh. The city is cleaning itself and I am cleansed as well. Saturday morning, awaking to rain, I felt my body and soul sighing in relief. I felt calm and peaceful for the first time in weeks. My shoulders loosened. My mind relaxed. I allowed myself hours to read on the couch without feeling guilty. I felt like cooking, and did. 

Sometime Saturday afternoon I noticed that I'd run several errands, seen relatives and still felt relaxed. At no point during the day did I begin to feel frantic with tasks undone. Towards the evening when D$ was napping and I was finished reading and was making dinner, it hit me. Summer is not my season. As much as I love sunshine and daylight, summer stresses me the fuck out. Too many things I should be doing. People in and out of town, sunshine that I have to take advantage of, poorly organized barbecues to attend. Obligations, albeit fun obligations, to a person who wants to snuggle inside, who craves hours alone, who sunburns and sweats profusely and dreads organized sporting events. 

But fall. Fall is my season. I feel at home - most strongly myself - in the light drizzle and the grey light. Mine is a constitution uniquely formulated for rain, cold breezes, and warm sweaters. In the summer I enjoy the warmth and the frolics (and the vegetables) but I am not at home. 

Autumn makes sense to me. In the fall, I fit in. Less daylight is replaced by warm lamplight from homes and shop windows. Hot chocolate and popcorn are reasonable dinner entrees. My favorite hoodie/jacket combination is pulled out of the closet, along with scarves and boots and sweaters. There is Halloween to look forward too, and Thanksgiving, and even Christmas. Nesting and burrowing are not only allowed, they are practically called for and I am happy - relieved, even - to oblige. 

Sigh. Thank god you're back, Autumn. I've missed you. 

Something to keep in mind

If you're not

If you're not

If you're not

If you're not

If you're not getting happier as you get older

Than you're fucking up

Thanks, Ani. 

(Ani DiFranco opened up for John Prine (!!) at the show I saw this weekend. I was never a huge fan but she was awesome. My mom was totally enamoured with her. My Catholic mother-in-law was less thrilled with the song about promiscuity. You win some, you lose some.)

Staying Still

Holliday-Cary House, N. College St., Auburn, Lee County, Alabama

1939

Frances Benjamin Johnston, via Library of Congress "Carnegie Architecture of the South." 

This morning when I heard the soothing NPR broadcaster tell me that today was May 17th, a light went off in my brain. May 17th...why is that date ringing a bell? Why is it important?

Looking through my old calenders didn't tell me much about why I would remember May 17th but it was revealing in other ways.

May 17th, 2009, was the day I arrived in Portland* to start an internship, live with my parents, be away from D$ for a few months and start the nitty gritty planning for my upcoming wedding.

May 17th, 2010, was the day after I graduated from my Masters Program and the day before we picked up the Budget Truck to fill with our belongings and drive across the country to a new life.

Suffice it to say, the last few Mays have been big transitions. It's almost odd that this May is so normal. I feel like, well, the weather is changing drastically, why isn't my life? At least that was my first thought.

Then I realized that we are already planning for more transitions. We have been talking about buying a house. We have tentative baby plans (not soon so just calm down over there). Sunday we went to Open Houses and we talked about meeting with a lender, "just in case." Home-buying felt like it was on the horizon.

Now I think maybe we aren't ready. Maybe we should wait. Maybe we should take time to appreciate the fact that we aren't  in a transition right now. I want to make sure that D and I are living in the present instead of rushing forward to the future. I want us to enjoy the summer - go away on weekends, stay in on weekends, sleep late, drink wine at 2 pm, enjoy each other and our life - before we leap ahead to the next thing.

The thing is...can I stay still for a while?


*Having flown into Seattle the night before, so it can't be that I remember it because I flew that day