Thursday, December 8, 2011

The Futility of Plans

Well, the good news is my box fever has lifted.

The bad news is that it's gone because I've unpacked most of the boxes & returned their contents to their rightful place.  The packing of the boxes experience was much more wistful & nostalgic than the unpacking of the boxes.  When packing the boxes, I assumed when I unpacked them I'd be living in our new house.  Optimistic of me, right?

The real estate situation has gone from bad to worse in the past 48 hours.  Tuesday was D-Day, & it did not go well.  We remain unsure of the details of the issues surrounding the sale of the home our buyer currently owns (because apparently real estate transactions work a little like the mafia or something), but whatever the issues are, they're putting a real damper on my plans.  I have to commend our real estate agent, Grace Burke, who has been wonderful during this whole process.  I've known her all my life, she made my wedding cake (which was phenomenal), & if you need a cake made or a house sold, consider her because whether it's baking or real estate, she does quality work.

Trey & I have extended our contract with the current owners of the house we'd still like to buy, but as of yesterday, our home is officially back on the market, which makes me, if I may be blunt, incredibly irritable & angry (& not just because now I have to make the bed everyday in case someone wants to view our house).  We've learned a lesson or two, & if we again enter into a contract with a buyer, that contract will be contingent on nothing, except maybe the Lord's return.  I think I might ask if I can have the contract drawn up that way: "I, the undersigned, will buy said property unless the Lord's return prevents me from doing so."  I've decided optimism is for fools, so I'm preparing myself for the worst concerning this whole situation.  The 'worst,' fortunately, is that we don't sell our home soon & aren't able to purchase the home we love, at which point we've decided to build.

Let me pause & say that if we do end up building, right now there is a builder out there somewhere going about his day, minding his own business, who will have my anal retentiveness unleashed on him in the coming year.  Say a little prayer for him now.  As soon as I post this blog, I'm going to peruse some old Southern Living house plans my mom gave me.  So, the worst case scenario isn't all that bad in the long run.  Either way, we move into a new house I love, & if we build then Reagan can put her hands in the wet cement when they pour the driveway & we'll carve her name, & maybe the date, with a stick.

Unfortunately for Trey, D-Day was also his 33rd birthday.  Needless to say, I was not in a partying mood, but Reagan, completely oblivious to the situation, waited at the door all day for her daddy to get home from work (or maybe she's thinking, "Hey, I thought we were moving out of here today?"):

She wore herself out, & a few minutes after I put her in her crib for her nap, I returned to this:

She had her first experience with balloons (she's familiar with the red balloon in Goodnight Moon, but this gave her some hands on time):

Yesterday, probably feeling a little sorry for me & also wanting to see Reagan, my mom brought me lunch from Chick-fil-A & brought Reagan this awesome hat:

So we wait, excitedly continuing the countdown to Reagan's 1st birthday, & hoping someone with loads of cash passes our house & decides it would be a great Christmas gift for someone they love.  Oh, shoot . . . there's a little too much optimism in that last sentence.  


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