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Posts Tagged ‘Stress’

The worst kind of stress is the one where you see the end to your headaches and worry, like a light at the end of the tunnel, and then suddenly you disoriented by the sudden reappearance of blackness.

I rather feel that way tonight, as we didn’t close on the sale of our old house. We were at the closing table at the prescribed hour. Tony and I signed all the documents while waiting for the buyer to arrive. We sat waiting as G.I. Joe read. Every. Single. Loan paper. In detail. And then asked questions. (The look of horror on both Realtor’s faces and the 206 year old man began to dawdle through the documents was priceless. I even asked mine, “Are we going to be here till Tuesday?” and she said, “Probably.”)

Did I mention that Joe was late to the closing? If he hadn’t been, we might just have closed.

Sometime between the moments where WE signed and HE signed – the V.A. decided to pull the plug on the deal. Money had already been transfered to the closing attorney’s office. BUT, because the appraiser for the VA, who went back to inspect the work done to our property on MONDAY, filed a note about a few MORE repairs that he wants done, the whole deal has been stopped. The VA won’t guarantee the loan for now, and therefore we are being held hostage.

What’s the hang up? What flagrant foul is so dangerous that there will be no closing today? Three things: There’s some ivy, flaking pain and bit of rotting wood on a window frame.

I know -It’s up there with the fallout from Chernobyl. Totally. Death by nit pick. Didn’t see that one coming…

G.I. Joe – Rise of the Cheap Swindler, stars crying about how HE’s hired movers for this week, and how he’s going to have to move twice now, and how he just can’t afford that, how much he’s given already (WTF?) and could he please have occupancy, to which we were like… ?  What’s in it for us? (Other than keeping this whole deal from falling apart.)

He wanted us to let him live in the house for free. And he promised he wouldn’t sue us…

!!!

Let me sum up my feelings about Toothless Joe. When he rolled into the room (late) and we got started on the paperwork – before the deal got shot to hell and gone by a 4 o’clock email – I actually felt sorry for the guy. He said he got $200 in the mail today, and it was just such a surprise, and how it helped him out so much. I calmed myself and thought about how good my life is, about how I could just give away $50 to charity today because that charity is important, not to me, but to a friend I love dearly, and how I am young (relatively) and fit (more or less) and have a LOT of advantages. Joe is sad, and alone and old and broke-down. By 6PM, I wanted to kill that cantankerous, dip-wad chiseler, his Realtor, various inspector’s for the V.A. and one of my kids. I wasn’t too fond of the put-upon attorney either. G.I. Joe really knew how to play the bumbling pity card, and he knows that he can get everyone else to pay for anything just so this deal won’t fall apart. He got his OWN REALTOR to pay for the additional repairs the VA wants done. He’s deviously brilliant.  (Before you take his side, know this is the 4th house he has bought with a VA loan. He’s playing the system and that’s no mistake.)

So it’s shamefully true. We are willing to do anything to make sure this doesn’t fall apart – cause we ain’t never going to get a deal that sucks less that this one. I mean, what he’s trying to pay us sucks, and what we had to do to help HIM get HIS loan still chaps my ass, but it’s about the best we can hope to get from this house  this season. So we gave another pint in hopes that we can stop our financial bleeding. We agreed to an occupancy agreement, and Joe is moving in on Saturday. I have a baaaaaaad feeling about this. Real bad.

The Realtor’s think that this can all be taken care of by Monday, and we can close the deal then, and everyone get’s their hands off this flaming tar baby.  See me not holding my breath. But that hardly matters, as one way or another, the difference between here and closing Monday is one mortgage payment. And that’s just more stress than I wanted in my life tonight.

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Before I publish this post, I think it’s only fair to post a ‘cranky’ warning:

You’ve been warned.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

My mother has gone home.

My husband has gone back to work.

Tomorrow – I will be alone with the babies.

On the one hand, I am really looking forward to getting on with the next few years of my life: raising two little girls to be less like animals and more like people with which I want to share the world.   On the other hand, it’s been really, REALLY nice having Mom and Tony at home with me.  Mom has been really great about helping with everything from changing diapers to laundry to baby holding.  And I never get tired of Tony’s company.  Tomorrow, I’m going to be kind of lonely with out them here every hour.

I have nothing I need to get done tomorrow, if you don’t count cleaning the house and making several pies.  But I’m so tired at the moment that the idea of making pumpkin pie (plop, stir, bake, eat) sounds as challenging as hiking to Kathmandu.  My back hurts.  My head hurts.  I’ve been wresting Eleanor, so my incision hurts.  And I feel mean.  That I hate the most.  I don’t want to be snappish, not with the girls tomorrow, or my friends at Thanksgiving the day after that.  I feel like having a good cry, a hot shower and 12 15 26 hours of sleep peppered with the occasional Mojito and chocolate pie.  Maybe some turkey.

Driving home from my parents’ place tonight, I thought hard about what normal needs to be from here.   I can’t hardly tell what I THINK normal will look like. When I had my first baby, a very good friend told me, “You have great skin.  Don’t f— it up.  Sleep when the kid sleeps.”  And that was really good advice.   I felt pretty good napping the occasional day away with Eleanor.  But I don’t think I can reasonably do that now, which is a shame, because Saralyn is such a great, multi-hour sleeper.  My poor, poor skin…

Eleanor, who I used to think of as the happiest soul I ever knew, now displays behavior that would make a constipated camel seem agreeable.  She’s… golly…I can hardly describe it.  Um… start with a big old pile of stubborn, and add weepy.  She cries now when you give her EXACTLY what she asks for.  At any hint of reprimand, she flings herself bodily toward the floor, and usually hit her head.  One would think this would be a negative reinforcement in itself.  She WILL not learn about not throwing food, or kicking and hitting people, or ‘No touch!’   She knows what will happen if she tosses her Cheerios (she looses her snack, first off, and either gets a time out or her hand slapped).  You can see her weigh her choice against the consequences, but then she does it anyway, and then comes the fireworks.  I’ve tried being the strong arm.  I’ve tried ignoring it.  I’ve tried spanking, pleading, time out.  Nothing. Changes.  Her.  Behavior.  I am at wits end.

Perhaps now that Saralyn has come along, I will need to let more things slide.  I try to be on time to everything.  I LIVE by a schedule for Eleanor.  I still want to accomplish so many things in a day, as I have done with Eleanor in the past.  Swimming?  How can I take two of them?  Library, Park?  That may be more doable in the near future.  Laundry?  Weekends, I guess.  My house…? I want to keep on top of the chores at my house, like feeding my family good, quality food and keeping the toy debris picked up, but I don’t want to park any kid in front of the TV so I can get to the kitchen.  And I WANT A NAP!!!  I’m overwhelmed and don’t know where to start.

Normal is this giant elephant on my dinner plate right now.  I have a feeling that I’m just going to have to start with one bite at a time.   Perhaps my first snack needs to be a hot shower right now. Does Dove make a body wash that scrubs off anxiety?

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