Bottom Feeders

Not being served at your nearest Dead Lobster

There's a lot you learn when you sell a house.  No matter how many times you sell a house, there's always something new you learn. This go around of selling the house has us smack in the middle of a buyers market and it's not a fun place to be.  It's brought out a lot of what you see to the left: bottom feeders.  Like the featured creature, housing bottom feeders are equally hideous.  They seem to delight in tossing out insultingly low offers that serve only to frustrate the seller. They feed on the desperation of cash-strapped or mortgage-spanked homeowners (I am so glad we are not in the situation).  I am decidedly not a fan of the bottom feeder.

In spite of the bottom feeders that have come our way, I am pleased at the activity we are getting.  People are coming through and the feedback is good. We've had five times the number of showings in one month than we did in the entire nine months our house in SoCal sat on the market.  So, believe me, we are grateful.

This is not an easy process.  But I see that the mighty fine and stunningly patient SML and I are learning lessons, good lessons, through this process.  There's a lot of faith being exercised as we try and determine where our lives are going through this experience.  We are learning to work through the ups and downs of bottom feeder offers and believing that the right offer will come along.  Our prayers have taken on a new intensity, as has the listening for answers.  I know I've found comfort in the sense of peace that's come my way.  I don't have the answer as to when the house will sell or when we will be able to move forward on finding a new place, but I know it's going to work out.  I'm grateful for a Father in Heaven who is listening.

That said, I'm ready for this to be over.  I'm ready to get on with this next phase of life in the Den.  So say a prayer, light a candle, slaughter a goat (I mean that metaphorically as the last thing I need is a PETA protest in my front yard), do what you do....we'll take anything we can get to help us sell the house!

The march into middle age isn't letting up

There are a few things in life that are certain, like death and taxes.  We'll all die and to get there, we have to age.  It doesn't matter how long you have on this earth, you'll age on your way to the check-out that is death.  For those who live long enough, you get to a time in life called middle age, and my march to middle age goes on unrelentingly.  That march was called into perfect relief earlier today.

I was at the local mall, checking it out, and much like the old man giving the mall cop (editorial aside-is there anything more oxymoronic than a mall cop?) the stink eye, I  felt like I was tossing the stink eye everywhere I went.  It started when I walked by that emporium of shattered teen-age dreams, Abercrombie & Fitch, and I was ensnared in the lethal tentacles that is the "scent" that wafts from their stores with abandon.  It's like a siren song to teens, but to those of us with the ability to think and reason, it's hideous.  As I stumbled from the A&F haze, grateful that I was still alive and that I had emerged with my chest hair still in place (because apparently chest hair is not welcome at or near there), I began to realize that there was not a single store in the mall that had anything for my demographic.  Nothing.  Unless I was buying a suit, which I was not.  As I walked around, I grew more and more disgruntled, letting the hammer of judgement fly about other shoppers clear inability to use their mirrors at home.  It was then that I realized I needed to get the heck out of there and get out I did.  From there, I went over to Trader Joe's and it was a madhouse. Again, the old man that I am becoming came out as I muttered about the crowds and the maddening need that some shoppers have to write a check (I've said it before but I think that's an offense worthy of execution).  As I left the cacophony of that place, I looked up into the amazingly beautiful blue sky and realized I needed to shake off my middle-age funk.  It was time for a run.

It's been far, far too long since I've gotten in a run, good or otherwise.  It's time to get back at it and I started today.  So I got out on a new trail and it was gorgeous.  It felt good to run again.  I was slow, ploddingly slow thanks to the weight I've gained back, but I ran a couple of miles and loved it.  The breeze was invigorating and the sun was welcome on my pasty arms and legs.  There will be no running shirtless for awhile, if at all, let me tell you.  The last thing I need to do is unleash my moobs on innocent New Englanders.  That said, the run made me feel better.  It did what I hoped.  I can't stop the oncoming train that is middle age, but I can feel better about it.  I'm going to stay out of the malls for awhile and stick to the trails.

When mothering goes horribly wrong

It's a well-known fact of life in nature that, on occasion, a mother will eat her young.  Many of us learned this lesson when we had pet hamsters/gerbils/or like creatures.  Once they reproduced, you had to get the babies out fast or many of them would wind up as their mother's dinner.  Many animals face an uphill battle from the moment they are born and enemy #1 is Mom.  For most of humans, it's the complete and total opposite.  Mom is our fiercest protector and that's exactly how it should be.

However, there are times when mothers turn on their children and things like this happen:

Wire hangers?  I think not.

"Mommie Dearest" is embodied all that can go horribly, horribly wrong with mothers.  It was epic and terrifying.

Epic and terrifying explains what I've been experiencing with Mother United.  I've been loyal, fiercely loyal to Mother United for more years than I care to count.But I fear that it's all been for naught.  I feel like Mother United, who's struggled for years as a single parent, after dating some interesting characters (and you know who you are), has brought home a keeper.  There's someone new on the scene.  And that someone ain't going anywhere.  Mother United, like that giddy newly-married one, is changing fast, and the changes aren't good, aren't good at all, for her loyal children.  She's pushing aside her loyal ones in the interesting of pleasing her new partner.  She's pushing them out.  That's not always the most pleasant feeling in the world.  If you've followed my travails on Facebook, you know it's not been good at all for me.

Well, I'm a big boy.  I get it.  I'll have to give some of Mother United's friends a try. It's going to be an interesting ride.

Graduation Day

Lots going on today and I'm pressed for time, but I'd be remiss if I did not mention what happened today.  It was Graduation Day for Our Lady of Awesome, our first-born child.  She graduated from BYU today.  Suffice to say, it was a good day.  Once again, as I saw her march in the processional, I got a little teary but only for a second.  When your 16 year old son is standing next to you, mocking you for getting emotional, you dial it back.

Here's the graduate with her sister and brother:

She's been degree'd!

We're thrilled.  We're proud.  Frankly, I was just delighted to be there.  If you follow me on Facebook, you saw that getting to Happy Valley was no easy task.  Suffice to say, thanks to Mother United, I now have a very clear understanding of what it means for a mother to eat her young.  More to come on that.  For now, time to spend some time with the family and celebrate our oldest.  Yeah, it's been a good day.