And then there were three. . .
There’s a third offer on the house and "they are inclined to accept it."
We have one last chance. We upped our offer a bit and our realtor is delivering a verbal counter now. We’re waiting to hear back. I am on pins and needles. So much for it being a "buyer’s market."
Pooped in More Ways than One
I spent the morning following the girls around and cleaning up mess after mess after mess. It’s simply amazing how they can wreck a place in less than 10 minutes. In the time it takes me to organize one closet, they’ve destroyed the rest of the house completely.
With only 10 minutes until my realtor was supposed to show up with his marketing assistant and our "For Sale" sign, I decided to check the only room I hadn’t checked all day. . . the basement.
I walked in and was greeted with piles of puke from my lovely cat, Bear. He has major health problems. He’ll go for months without an issue. Of course he picks today to have one. I started cleaning up one spot, only to find one after another after another.
Then I found something even more "pleasant" than puke.
Poop.
Fabulous.
Mr. BBM had mentioned to me that the cats somehow got a hold of a bag of treats. When Mr. BBM found the bag, it was shredded and all the treats were gone. I’m thinking the treats must have been like those "WOW" potato chips of a few years ago that made you think you could eat a whole bag, only to discover that if you did, there would be some serious Montezuma’s revenge that would send you worshipping the porcelein gods with your butt. (You should know that I never tried those chips. If you don’t believe me, just ask Adam. I sent him lard friend potato chips for Christmas. I don’t take short-cuts when it comes to potato chips.)
So back to the basement. . . there I am, walking around the basement finding one surprise after another with my spray bottle of bleach and paper towels cursing Mr. BBM for being at work and my cat for getting sick NOW. Seriously? Now? Then the phone rings. It’s my realtor. He’s running 30 minutes late. Thank God. . .
Because that was almost the exact moment that I found more surprises behind the water heater. Like an ACL replacement recoveree is going to be able to get on her hands and knees and get back there!
I did my best, pretty much sprayed my whole basement with bleach and scrubbed while bent in half. When my realtor arrived, I still had to clean up yet another pile of puke to clear the path for his assistant to check out our crawl space.
I seriously must be nuts to be trying to sell my home with a 2-year old in the house and a cat with health problems. What was I thinking?
We still haven’t heard back on our counter, which was pretty much not a counter but more like a "we’re standing our ground." I realize keeping your fingers crossed is sort of counter-productive if you have a job where you need your hands, but I sure would appreciate it whenever you have the time to cross them.
Or Not
Maybe this whole "happened for a reason" stuff is just a nice little saying that helped get me through a weekend that was supposed to have been different.
The sellers have counter-offered. We’re not at all liking the counter or the way they went about doing it. We very well may lose this house.
Tomorrow, the sign goes up in my yard. The rooms have been measured, the pictures have been taken and I don’t even know if I’ll have a place to live.
I’m trying to be positive about it all, but I seriously don’t know how much more disappointment one gal can take.
Oh well, at least my house is sparkling clean. . . for now.
A Reason for Everything
On Thursday night I walked into a house and fell in love.
Today, we looked at it for the second time and put an offer in immediately after. We knew we were up against one other offer. We heard from the sellers agent that ours is the better offer and are anxiously waiting to hear back from the seller.
If I was in New Orleans testing for my Shodan, I wouldn’t have seen this house because I would have been traveling or getting ready to travel. The other people would have this house and we would have missed out.
Maybe this is the reason.
Maybe we’re supposed to have this house.
Please keep your fingers crossed for us.
Kicking Myself
I am about 10 degrees away from being able to kick my own butt. That’s right. At physical therapy I hit 146 degrees this week. My PT said he could have made me hit 147; but I was already pretty much needing my mouth washed out with soap and the pillow just wasn’t cutting it as far as noise reduction goes. There were the ears of those who had recently undergone knee replacements to consider.
He measured my good leg and I can easily get to 155 degrees flexion. I have less than 10 degrees to go. Of course, I have to start being able to get there comfortably, but that’s a whole different story.
On Friday, I’ll be going to physical therapy again with hopes of getting into the very high 140’s. It was only months ago that I imagined I’d be up to something a bit more exciting on this coming Friday, February 15th. I had plans to travel to New Orleans, LA to test for my Shodan, and then the unthinkable happened on a night immediately after a friend and awesome martial artist told me I was "ready."
My instructors and at least one of my dojo friends are there. They’ll be working out in the company of stellar martial artists. They’ll be sampling the local cuisine. They’ll be attending a formal Yudansha test, where nervous 1st kyu’s will be showing their stuff like I had hoped to do. . .
I’ll be trying to kick myself in the butt.
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