The last few weeks, I have mostly been about the business of packing, organizing as it relates to packing, or home improvement as it relates to selling. When I know what I want, I am relentless about making it a reality. The courtesies of keeping in touch, often fall away. I’m not consciously being rude. I am consumed by the task at hand, and I despise stopping before a task is unfinished. I’m typing this under the guise of having breakfast. My coffee cup is beside me, but there are empty boxes in the garage and an assload of cds to sort.

The Mister has not been as motivated, but he is taking care of tasks I detest like making telephone arrangements. He’s lined up inspectors for the new house, shopped around for the best interest rate, and found a van company to transport our belongings. He’s also been more involved with his parents. Guilt is a very effective motivator for some people.

Mister Hombre’s family knows about the move, and considering the circumstances, they are taking things well. They are happy about our new adventure, and understand the benefit of moving closer to a major airport for the Mister’s job. They are also concerned about what this means for them personally not having him nearby to help out. They are simultaneously excited and petrified. If I were the one left behind, I would feel the same.

Mrs. One Eye is more emotional. Our move is something she remembers vividly, unlike where she put her gloves or hid her purse. One of the frustrating elements about dementia is the unpredictability of the memory. You never know what will become the object of obsession. Days can past without a glimpse of the person you recognize as your parent, and the moment you consider letting go… a glimpse of the person you remember becomes recognizable.

I haven’t told my family yet. I had planned on mailing a card with a cute illustration and an inappropriate ebonics style announcement, but I wasn’t finished on time. This means I get to tell them in person over Easter dinner. I’m not looking forward to this. It isn’t because I dread something emotional or crappy confrontation. Honestly, it interferes with my packing. This will take me away from most of a days work. I will spend a nice day with them, but I will be preoccupied by boxes, packing tape, pine straw bales, bubble wrap, transporting cats, and packing art. I’m that consumed about finishing the packing. This has been underway since January. I’m ready to be settled. There is an unfinished oil pastel calling out to me

I suspect I will catch a minimal amount of crap for not saying something sooner. I had to be reasonably sure this move would happen. I’m not the type to discuss hopes, dreams or goals. I prefer to wait until I’ve already started the process of making things happen. I hate explaining why thing didn’t happen, it makes me feel like a failure.

Even if I had voiced my intentions to them earlier, it wouldn’t have changed much. Their lives wouldn’t have become miraculously less busy, nor would mine. I’m the one without kids, so by default, I’m expected to drive to their houses for their milestones. I could elaborate on the lack of frequency of family visits to my home, but this isn’t about my suffering from bitterness. My only point is distance isn’t always the deterrent people make it out to be. I will still see the entire family together twice a year, which ironically is he way things are currently and we live less than seventy miles apart.

Life is full of changes, and it marches on whether we choose to or not. I will miss them and the conveniences of being near, but five hours isn’t a lifetime away unless you choose to make it that way.

For those who celebrate the holiday, I hope you have an enjoyable one. For those who simply celebrate the weekend, have a great one! I’m still reading, I just don’t have much time to comment.

And, Sari, I haven’t forgotten.

Part One is here, and Part Two is here.

I didn’t think much of the unscheduled stop, I felt like the agent was grasping at straws trying to keep us engaged. He had already shown us eight properties that fell under the, “What in the Hell were you thinking, dude?” category.

He didn’t have the listing information with him on this particular house and he managed to lowball the owner’s asking price which was still more than we planned on investing.

The home looked rather inconspicuous from the street. It was on a slopped double lot, and looked to be on the smallish side. It was deceptive in its quaintness. We were surprised to discover the house had cathedral ceilings with skylights in some rooms. The living areas were spacious, the floor plan flowed, most of the living space was on a single level,the master bath had been remodeled, and there was a sun room which I immediately declared as studio space…

The Mister and the agent were both surprised I had a new first choice. My new favorite gradually became the Mister’s favorite. Our favorite turned out to be a real problem… the misestimated asking price, was already beyond our budget. The Mister asked what I thought, and I told him I thought our agent was an asshole. Not intentionally, just thoughtlessly. The house was a unique property for the area, and had not attracted much interest. For the Mister and me it would be a good fit.

Refusing to jeopardize our financial stability,we made an insulting offer on our new favorite. We knew our limit, and agreed to walk away when necessary. We had three prospective properties and were willing to pursue the others. After our initial offer, I turned my attention to our second and third choices. The first choice seemed out of reach and I didn’t want to spend too much time dwelling on it.

After several days of negotiations, offers and counter offers, we were shocked when they accepted our last counter offer. Neither the Mister, the realtor, nor myself considered the prospect of a successful negotiation. We were playing the game on the off chance something would happen, not anticipating that it might.

We close on the property next month. Our house is officially on the market, Friday. We will move next month, even if our current hasn’t sold yet. I think this is really going to happen this time.

An Aside: I really intended to make this a two parter, but my FIL was having trouble with his remaining eye. The staff at the care facility thought he might have cancer in his good eye, because his vision has been so poor recently. We (Mister Hombre & me) didn’t think it was cancer, (and we have SOOOOO many medical credentials in this house), but we wanted word from a board certified physician, instead of Web MD. I wanted to be reasonably certain our plans were firm before making any announcements, hence the nail biter as I waited for the eye exam results

Thanks for sticking with me!

Part One can be found here

It’s difficult when partners pull in opposite directions. What constitutes compromise? When two views are diametrically opposed, compromise evolves into concession. When you concede once, do you lose your negotiating power for the next altercation, or is your bargaining position stronger? There is also the consideration, if I get my way, can I live with forcing a big decision on my partner?

I have wanted this for a long time. The more time that passed, the more desperate the desire. In spite of my longing, it was important to me, that the Mister come to this conclusion on his own without me nagging or issuing a ultimatum (not my style).

Moving was a joint goal when the Mister and I met. His divorce wasn’t final (a three year production), and he wanted to remain here until his youngest graduated high school… Then we tried to plan our move around my having employment secured in the new location… After 9/11, the bottom fell out of the job market… and later there was a honeymoon period in the middle of our marriage when we bought a house. His job was going well, and mine presented the illusion of having a future…. Then we waited for the youngest to finish college… when my job went to hell in a hand basket and I was ready to call a real estate agent.

Our goal was ostensibly the same, but the timing…

SInce the Mister’s decision, I’ve been busy making preparations to sell the house. Packing up clutter for storage, re-grouting the shower, scrubbing baseboards, pressure washing, cleaning windows….yadda, yadda, yadda. It’s a level of cleaning women seldom attempt unless they fear being judged by a mother-in-law or a real estate agent.

I suggested we take another trip to the prospective moving destination to make sure we felt the same way about it. We looked at property online an made arrangements to look at several places with an agent. I thought would spend a few days with the agent and then have a few days to explore…

We spent five hours a day for four fucking days with the agent. A wise friend nailed it best, “Realtors stick to you like shit on a sandal.” Yup.

Before we left on our fact finding mission, the Mister and I were both leaning toward the same property. We visited that property three different times. The first time, we were captivated, the second time we were observant, the third time, we were skeptical. That part kinda sucked, because this was like our safety house….

Total, we saw 13-15 properties. Three were possibilities we could make work. Then the realtor pulled a rabbit out of his ass and made an unscheduled stop…

It happened in January.

We were driving home from the Mister’s parent’s (the One Eyes) home. His parents are still in assisted living, but renovations are underway. The One Eye’s want to return home. The Mister and two brothers are opposed, but rather than seizing control of the situation they are placating the One Eyes with stall tactics which could backfire.

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I don’t believe it is proper to tease people, especially when they are unable to make responsible decisions regarding their well-being. I think it is cruel and disrespectful to offer a person the promise of hope when you don’t plan to follow through. However, I didn’t grow up in their family. Maybe for them this acceptable. I clearly don’t understand it, so perhaps I shouldn’t judge.

I watched the Mister and his brother walk through the One Eyes’ home discussing which aspects of the renovation their mother would not approve. The guys were getting completely wrapped around the axle about minor things like how a piece of molding fit, or an aesthetic blemish, but ignoring larger issues like climbing steps to enter the home. Obsessing over appliances and ignoring the 800 lb. gorilla in the room.

It is difficult to witness two grown men reduced to nit picking inconsequential details and refusing to discuss the real issue, what happens after the One Eyes return home? I walked outside. This was a moment of communication between brothers. Some men complain about women reading into situations and speaking in code. Sorry guys, we aren’t alone, we’re just more vocal.

I wanted them to experience the gravity of the moment unclouded by the presence of a woman who disapproved of their inertia. I’ve run out of things to say about the situation and seldom offer opinions about it anymore. Mostly I sit quietly, listen, and try to learn from their experience. I have a mother too, and could easily find myself in a similar situation. I don’t expect it to be any easier, but I’d rather make new mistakes than old ones.

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The drive home was quiet. He adjusted the radio while I watched the world pass. He broke the silence, “I’m ready to put our house on the market”. I paused for thought. I wasn’t sure if my brain was processing his message. My heart said believe, but my mouth uttered, “do you really mean it?”

“Yes, I kept waiting for the right time, but there’s always one more thing…There’s always going to be one more thing.”

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For relevant posts to the moving saga, read here and here.