Hey, Where's The Remote?

I know we're moving soon (hopefully), but I did a little rearranging in the living room tonight. I piddled and slid some of the seating to a corner that used to flank the TV. Then I scooched the ottoman a little that way and this. When I was done with all that Ma Luffin' Mayun schlepped the TV for me to it's new spot.

The trunk. Of my car. Yep, that's right.

Here's the thing: we have threatened to give our television the ol' heave-ho for probably a cumulative half of our marriage and family-hood. In our nearly fourteen years together under the same roof we've never had cable or satellite. For us it just wasn't an expense we wanted to accommodate, and many times could not justify. But more than that we know ourselves, and we can be sure that our handful of expert gardener friends would far rather harvest useful vegetation than answer an emergency phone call to come pluck our deep-rooted, couch-potato butts from in front of the TV. We like TV. We like it alawt. Our kids do, too. And I'm pretty convinced we could never watch another thing and still be able to use one TV/movie line or reference per hour for the rest of our lives and not run out of them (it is our gift, it is our curse...).

Don't be fooled by the lack of channels. Without them, we watch lots of videos. There's a rotation of movies general viewing audiences (read: all five of us) can watch that cycle through regularly: Willy Wonka, Woody and Buzz, Tinkerbell, Hap Palmer's Baby Songs (which, p.s., contains the song "Growing" with a clown that Little Big Man consistently tells me he wants to punch in the face...yikes). Then there are a few schmaltzy rom-coms that get watched on occasion like You've Got Mail, Last Holiday, Fever Pitch, and 27 Dresses. Of course there are shoot-em-up movies: Tombstone, Minority Report, Reign of Fire, Jason Bourne, and hobbits, elves, men, and dwarves battling for Middle-Earth. There's the handful of musicals like Annie, Meet Me In St. Louis, and Singin' In The Rain. We've got Jane Austen and L.M. Montgomery, Jimmy Stewart and Carey Grant. There are episodes with Andy, Rob and Laura, Jim and Pam, the Huxtibles, BillieJo/BobbyJo/BettyJo, Ma and Pa, Jack Bauer, Lucy and Ethel, and soup nazis, man-hands, and ya-da ya-das. Believe me, there's always something to watch.

We like to watch stuff. It makes us laugh or think or not think. It's relaxing. It certainly makes no demands on us and doesn't require much from us. And so we watch. But there's a trade out; while we're soaking up some entertainment our chances for, well, something ELSE are seeping out of us. We laughed at a show, but did we make sure we got a laugh out of our kids by playing or talking? Some movie made us think and captivated the imagination, but did it add any real value? Ninety minutes of “down time”, but no rejuvenation. There's nothing evil or inherently bad about us liking TV or movies. It's okay that we watch. But I think where we're at is a place where finally we say it isn't okay – the life we're missing – while we watch.

I want to read more. I want to write more. I want to listen to the kids make up games and play like they are so inclined to do if given the space. I want to talk and listen in conversation with the people I love. I want to be creative. I want to think thoughts about things that don't come out of a glowing box. I want a different musical score to our days than a movie soundtrack. I want to freely arrange furniture in a new home with no regard to where the TV ought to go.

It's not for everybody, this chucking of the TV. And I got to tell you, it's going to suck around here sometimes because our default settings are going to have to change (read: I'm already missing it and it's been in the trunk for about two hours). But we're ready and I think we're up to it. I know we won't regret the decision when we see all the gains from making the choice. What we would regret so much more than this light and momentary discomfort, however, is realizing we know a plethora of movie lines but haven't got a clue how each other's day was.

And really, how much Beverly Hillbillies can a person watch before their head implodes, anyway?

What Are We Waiting For?

My time this morning is limited, mostly due to two little people who have not yet realized Ye Olde World does not revolve around them. I'm trying to ease them into that reality so as to prevent a shock to their systems, so I will try to keep this all brief.

It has been an exasperating couple of weeks. We know we're getting a house and selling this one. When, however, has been another story. Tentative closing dates have come and gone quite a few times. The investors for our loan have asked for the most tedious information in triplicate it seems. It has required major effort and discipline and prayer to rise above moods and irritations and frustrations while we are in the waiting place.

Hurry.up.and.wait.

Most recently we found out that the investors were requiring another appraisal on the new house. They had one in hand, but disqualified it in accordance with some of their guidelines. A second appraisal was done. It, too, disqualified. Really? Seriously?

I have said throughout this experience that I really do think at this place in my life that I trust God and His timing, but I do not understand it at all. At all. I'm fairly certain He's not surprised by that. Actually I'm completely sure He's not surprised by it. And if God is a chuckler, I'm pretty positive He's had a good laugh knowing what He had cooking while I sat and scowled.

A third appraisal. Done on Friday January 21^st, 2011. A weekend followed with us quietly peaceful that at least it had happened quickly after being called for by the investors.

Then the phone rang.

It's J.G. “The appraisal came back $17,000 under the contract price. We've talked about it and we're willing to take the loss, so we need you to come in and sign an amendment to the contract for the new appraisal price.”

Translation: the home we are buying, this miraculous piece of real estate, will now cost us $17,000 less than we originally agreed to pay at the contract signing. Translation: that's $79,900 over the course of the loan. Translation: we will now pay less to live in more house than we pay to live where we are currently.

Uh. Yeah. No kidding.

Translation: wow.

God can do anything, you know—far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest dreams! He does it not by pushing us around but by working within us, His Spirit deeply and gently within us. - Ephesians 3:20

To Be Continued - Part 2 of 2 - or Letting The Cat Out Of The Bag

When Ma Luffin' Mayun and I were young bucks, before Little Big Man or Pretty Baby were even in our dreams or imaginations, we were, well, financially anemic.  For half a second I considered using the word "poor", but cannot possibly bring myself to do it knowing we've never lived even one day truly poor.  There was a mortgage, a car payment, student loans, a small amount of consumer debt, and not much cash flow.  We were making it work every month, but it just felt that at our rate we were never going to hit a sweet spot - the place where bills are paid, all the material needs are met, and no one's holding their breath praying nothing unexpected or costly would occur before the next pay period.  We weren't unwise or even just plain stupid with our finances, but we got to the place that we just wanted some advice and guidance...and some extra money wouldn't have hurt, either.

Enter J.G. (why I think I have to speak with code names I really don't know).  J.G. is the vice president of the mortgage department in our bank.  We set up a time to come to his office and talk through options to improve our cash flow.  Should we refinance our house at a lower interest rate?  How about roll all of our remaining debt in with a refinance so we would have one payment?  Or maybe we should try to pull out some equity in a line of credit?  Maybe the bank offered a You-guys-are-really-great-and-are-totally-worth-some-free-money-just-because-of-your-shining-personalities kind of loan.  Who knew?  We didn't know what to expect, but we wanted, and needed, to find out.

We went.  He asked questions; we answered.  We asked questions; he answered.  That much, we expected.  What we didn't expect was the calm, steady counsel we received from J.G.  It turns out that we could have refinanced our home, or rolled debt into a refinance, or gotten an equity line of credit.  Yeah, we could have.  But at a defining point, lacking any iota of condescension, J.G. leaned back in his chair, and said something to the effect of: "Listen, if you guys were my kids I would just say, 'hang in there'.  Keep doing what you are doing, plugging away at your debt, trying to live within your means.  Remember how close you are to seeing some of this debt totally paid off and just keep focused."  Ouch.  There was nothing instantly gratifying about that nugget of advice.  There was, though, in that moment this surreal feeling that we had just received a wound from a friend, though we had never met him before.  I assure you, this was most unexpected.  We left there a bit deflated with no more cash in hand or hopes for any more than when we got there, but also with a renewed sense that we were doing as we should, doing right in our finances, and that we were in a season of learning diligence and the art of delaying gratification, trusting that there is both a springtime and a harvest.

So, we did it.  We kept plugging away.  Not long after our encounter with J.G. we took a months-long personal finance class that helped us even further in our budgeting and planning.  We nervously but whole-heartedly set goals for paying off our debt, building up some savings, and loosening the budget some.  And not a little bit miraculously, we started seeing the goals being met one at a time.  Amazing.  J.G. was right, in every way.  He did not know us, but he honored us enough to give what we needed more than money - wisdom.

So from then to now a few years have passed.  Little Big Man and Pretty Baby have shown up on the scene, and Brilliant Beauty is nearly done with her elementary education (I think I just blacked out).  That all brings us to here: to days like the ones reflected in this blog where I winnow, try to use it or lose it, and keep the us-es higher priority than the stuff; here, where we are deliberating over more square footage, deciding to step out, and placing a For Sale sign in the yard.

Enter J.G. (seriously).  Now, let me clarify that we had no preexisting relationship with J.G., or any semblance of one following that morning in his office years ago.  Like so many other people or experiences, even ones that leave a significant impact, he had more than sort of faded to a memory, taken on a "Who?  Oh, yeah, him." sort of status.  But when we started the process of being preapproved for a mortgage loan this time around, J.G. was the man we happened to get connected with at the bank.  Pretty neato.

So, blabbity, blabbity, blah, blah, blah (a bit late for attempting to cut it short now, eh?)...A For Sale By Owner sign in the yard: check.  Flyers at the curb: check.  Loan preapproval attained: check.  Lots of great buying options around us: check.  A buyer for our house: uh, nope.  Nothing.  Nada.  Zilch.

But then comes that ringing phone.  It was J.G.

The bank found themselves to be the not-so-thrilled owners of a beautiful home in our area that had defaulted back to them.  In these economic days of wacky weirdness, even banks are finding creative ways to make every effort to find themselves in the black and not the red.  I'm not talking the shady stuff, just some of the unconventional stuff.  The home was super lovely, but way above our price range.  This wasn't the offer.  There was already a local family (we'll call them "Other Family") interested in the bank's property, but they had not been able to close the deal because their home had been on the market for nearly nine months and not sold.  J.G. wanted to know if we would be interested in viewing Other Family's home.  If we liked it and felt it would fit our wishes and needs the scenario would be a two-part swap and would work like this (it can get a little jumbled, so stick with me here):
Swap 1 - Other Family would buy the bank's house ---- the bank would buy Other Family's house
Swap 2 - we would buy Other Family's house from the bank ---- the bank would buy our house
If we liked what we saw and decided to move forward, after the swapping the bank would go from owning a property costing in the $200,000 range to owning one that costs less than $95,000, Other Family would get their dream home, and we would get ours.  Win-win-win.

Sounds too good to be true?  Yeah, it does.  But it isn't.

We went to see it and fell in love.  It is within walking distance from Brilliant Beauty's school, on a quiet cul-de-sac.  Each kid could have their own room.  It's on a beautiful partially wooded lot with a portion of the backyard fenced in for the kids to play.  It takes our square footage up considerably (to about 1,950 square feet from our current 1,100 square feet) without being too much house.  There's a rocking chair front porch and a beautiful back deck.  I could go on and on, I realize, because there is so much I love about it.  I could not have picked something more perfect.  We talked to J.G., expressed our desire to pursue the offer, and sat back and watched.  Swap 1 has taken place, putting Other Family in their home this past Thanksgiving.  I know they are thrilled.  Swap 2 is down to it's final moments, and we are trusting and believing that we will be in our new home within days.

Ma Luffin' Mayun and I have talked about the movie Apollo 13, the fact that it has been said by the men and women involved in that infamous mission that had everything which had gone wrong been depicted in the movie, it would've no longer been believable and would just become the stuff of science fiction.  That is how I feel about this home and these turns of events.  I could write a -Part 3, -Part 4, and -Part 12 to these last posts, filling them with the most lavish and most basic details of the things involved in this whole transaction.  Truly amazing.  I am dumbfounded and in awe.

So the cat is out of the bag.  I have spent a year winnowing a home for so many personal reasons.  I have also tried to winnow within myself all the things that clutter and create chaos.  I know now, too, that I have winnowed a home as a preparation for something I could not have foreseen; setting up a new home with new systems and new challenges.  If you have come this far - into the post, into the blog, into my life - thank you for bearing with me.  I'm so excited for the winnowing to come, for the continued learning of how to use it or lose it, to find a place for everything and everything in it's place.  We'll just simply head 'em up, move 'em out, and do it all from a new address.

Awesome.

To Be Continued - Part 1 of 2

Listen, I hate "to-be-continued"s.  They drive me nuts.  But knowing my own blog-reading preferences (i.e. posts somewhere between haiku- and short-essay-length versus a novella) I decided to break this post in two.  Please forgive this transgression.  I will not make it a habit.

It's no new information that round about September my presence on my own blog was significantly diminished.  Nothing about my winnowing efforts stopped.  In fact, in some ways it kicked into high gear.  The deal was that after several years (since I was pregnant with Little Big Man in 2007) we finally settled the debate over whether we needed more house or not, and if so would it come through adding on to our current dwelling or by purchasing a bigger home.  We have loved our home; it's small, cozy rooms with warm colors and walls saturated with memories of life as the parents of one, then two, then three.  And we have loved our neighbors.  It is no small thing to have both to our right and to our left people that we have grown to love and respect and trust deeply.  None of this made it easy to even consider moving, so enclosing our garage was the way we had thought we would expand.  But as we talked and thought and prayed it became clear that for us a garage renovation, though helpful, would still not solve "the problem".  I would catch myself thinking about enclosing the garage and liking the idea, but then I would think about when we could also expand off of the back of the house or the side, etc.  It was becoming clear to both Ma Luffin' Mayun and me that perhaps it was time to consider looking at other homes instead of attempting to contort this sweet home into something we could not make it.

To tell the truth, all the time we still were making every effort to keep ourselves open to the idea that this house was where we needed to stay.  It's not easy to ward off the temptation to want for the Next Big Thing, whatever it may be.  How many of us know too many who have bitten off more than they could chew to have the home or the furnishings or the lifestyle that was more than they could afford?  I get that, I really do.  You want what you want, plain and simple.  But one beautiful result of nearly fourteen years of marriage in which we have simply not made a lot of money (nor ever really expect to) is the learning - painful as it has been at times - to live within our means, and that of course means a smaller home or a used car or thrift store clothing. So I have stayed on my mission to winnow, to use it or lose it, knowing that ultimately we could decide that staying put would be best.

Now comes our proverbial fleece.  In September we decided to attempt the pre-approval process for a mortgage loan, finding out what we could afford.  Once that was done we decided we would then deep clean, polish this place to a shine, and put a For Sale By Owner sign along with flyers in our front yard.  I also made this webpage and put it out into the ethos through email and facebook.    We have known we wanted to stay in our small town, keeping the Brilliant Beauty in her school.  There are a bazillion lovely and affordable homes that have fallen prey to the economic times - bad for the seller, great for the buyer.  We made it through the mortgage application process, found hugely viable options for our next home, and receive nary a call on our house. Not.one.bite.

And then in November the phone rang...