No word yet!
No word yet on the house.
SURPRISE!
This guy's playing it cool---
two days in on our
counter counter.
The fact remains.
It is in his best interest
to accept our
very generous
offer.
I've considered
calling him on the phone---
I found his number
easily
on Whitepages.com.
Hello, sir,
I'd say.
Let's talk.
What's it going to take
within reason,
'cuz I'm thinking of
moving into that house.
Let's talk.
By the way, sir,
your parents had impeccable taste.
You must love that house a lot.
And why not?
We're just so pleased
something like it is
on the market.
On the advice of others,
I may even bring daughters
into the picture.
He has three of them,
so they say.
Oh, daughters, sir.
How delightful they are!
And they grow up so fast,
don't they.
Like they say, sir,
sugar, spice, and everything nice!
Anyway,
if you know B
you know how he
bristled at this idea.
Frankly, NO!,
he said.
I was instantly transported back
to the beginning of our r'ship,
circa 2002,
when I had a very similar feeling about
playing the love game.
Shiver me timbers,
that was hard.
I just wanted him, you know?
Screw all of the pretend stuff.
There were so many rules
and, well, I've never been good at rules.
The urge then was to call, call, call.
Connect, connect, connect.
Breathe in the fresh scent of laundry
on his neck.
Thank GOD I had friends and family members
in such a time as that.
I usually didn't call,
thankyouverymuch.
I was pretty cool(ish).
And so I remain,
no calls yet logged
to this game player
slash
homeowner
slash (in my realtor's words)
"businessman."
Fingers crossed.
And day 43.
Saturday, what a nice day.
So, we put an offer in on the house. You know, the one with this tree?
Safe to say we want it.
It's been hard to separate emotion from business, here, as it always is when you've already consulted with a contractor about all of the changes you're planning to make.
He countered the offer---came down 6.5% from the asking price. Our original offer was a bit lower than that---low(er) enough so that I am having a hard time picturing this guy as anything more than an asshole with legs.
So, what do we do? I mean, other than consult Dr. Google about what to do with a counter offer when you're buying a home?
We set our price, in between the two, and said that's it.
Then what? What if, GULP!, he rejects the counter counter and we're left looking for something else that isn't nearly as cool. We may spend the next 30 years driving by that house, having the same kinds of thoughts that older couple had when Dr. Leo Marvin bought their dream home on Lake Winnepesaukee.
Finger crossed and lots of good energy and stuff directed to this man.
And the 39-day cycle? Now 41 days (and counting).
39-day cycles deserve a donkey kick in the teeth.
Let me tell you: There's nothing particularly funny about 39(ish) day cycles when you're trying to get pregnant.
And that's why 39-day cycles deserve a donkey kick in the teeth. Especially when you've also suffered through an ectopic pregnancy. Endless, people.
First, there's the extremely long wait (and subsequent neuroses) for the next cycle. You spend the first 18(ish) days twiddling your thumbs, cutting back on all things not fetus friendly, and planning for the impending sexual extravaganza of sorts (when you plan to spend a lot of time just trying to take in sperm and hope that it doesn't end up like that scene in Election, you know the one). Then, you're working and waiting. Then you're just waiting, especially if you have the flu and your spouse is kissing you goodnight on the cheek. At about day 34, your therapist tells you you aren't allowed to buy a pregnancy test for a week, OKAY? and you do anyway and feel only the slightest bit of guilt---it's negative. By the time day 38 rolls around, you're certifiably insane.
When your cycles are 39 days, your friends think you are either really, really stressed or a freak of nature because, ohmygod, who does that happen to? You spend a lot of time explaining to people that they just need to jump on board the Taking Charge of Your Fertility train, wherein the author explains that there really is not such thing as the normal cycle (thanks for the recommendation, Magpie). There's still a part of you that wonders, Is it really normal, though? I mean, if it isn't average? And if it provokes that kind of response?
There's also the monitoring and the expenses. The basal temperatures when your daughter wants nothing more than for you to get up RIGHTNOW! and get her yogurt. The ovulation predictor, when you try your hardest to test at exactly the same time every day but your crazy schedule just doesn't permit it---and this goes on for more than 3 weeks! The pregnancy test, when you hide it from your spouse because you don't want to tell him that you have spent at least (no lie, and an underestimate!) $500 in the last year on them.
Then there are the What should I NOT be doings? Which follow the Obviously I am doing something wrong here if I am not getting pregnant. Should he be eating cashews (Thanks, LC)? Should I not be drinking even one teeny tiny cup of coffee? If I run, will I hurt my chances? Should I cold-turkey my antidepressant again? And what about Sudafed for nasal congestion? And unpasteurized cheeses. Are those okay? And hot baths? And what happens when TM wants to warm her feet on my tummy? Can she not do that?
I just got off the phone with my doctor, who called in reference to a call I had made in reference to medications I should or should not be taking if (or if not) I am pregnant. I hadn't talked to her in a while because she was gone last fall when I was treated for my ectopic pregnancy. I thought she was in Ghana doing research, BUT OH NO!, she was home having her third baby in the same amount of time I've raised my little TM.
And long cycles make the wait to catch up to your OB so much harder, you know?
Anyway, here I am. Lost in my thoughts.
*Sigh*
C'mon in!
We're thinking we'll make this lovely gem our new home:
Lots of light in every room---
Big windows, sun shining through.
Built in the 1950s.
Fabulously reminiscent of that.
(Photography credit to TM)
Designed with design in mind.
A fresh feeling and the promise of
happy Christmas memories.
Details and storage space abound.
Potential, potential, potential.
Room to grow and prosper.
Pink (and other) carpeting that will soon be
mercilessly ripped out.
Lots of other things like that.
But solid bones and a feeling of
timelessness.
Good neighbors,
friends to be had.
And a hallway in our bedroom!
Lots of space and no stairs.
A place where one could have creaky knees.
A laundry room with shelves! and cabinets!
Oh boy!
A garage.
A garage that feels like a submarine.
No more shoveling, scraping snow from the car.
A yard for Mr. Gabe---
to be thoroughly sniffed out and searched.
Space for a playground.
Safety in being fenced in
(for those of us who are particularly prone
to eating small white dogs for breakfast).
Fourteen things about me, right now.
- My right nostril is completely clogged.
- I am in the bed, working, with Mr. Gabe (of course).
- I have re-used the same tissue for the last hour. It is soaked and is starting to rip.
- My hands are scaly and look older than their years.
- I just remembered that someone told me you can tell how old people are by the elasticity on the backs of their hands.
- I want a massage on a warm table in a room with some sort of meditative music and a light, refreshing scent.
- My scarf is tied into a bow because I saw that somewhere and liked it.
- My eyes are dry.
- I need to leave for my therapy appointment but do NOT want to. If I cancel, my therapist will be annoyed and I'd rather go. Despite the fact that I'd always rather be doing #5.
- I'm super-excited about our trip to our new home tomorrow.
- I have been adding to my "new house" folder new ideas for our new house.
- I just realized the designs on my earring were done with a Sharpie. How dumb.
- I am comfortable. I don't want to move. I wish I could go to sleep right now for the night. It's 3:25.
- I need more decongestant. Can I take more of a 12 hour dose if the last dose I took was at 7 am? It's 3: 26.
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