At sweet sixteen, the vertiginous thrill of the the libidinous eclat of condominimazingness kick the Fonzarelli two-step straight into tummy thrashing pop-ups and outs. Loans, inspections, and bylaws oh my March through the mud-month. And father-to-be bike-and-chain is back to traipse through the mud in tacky Tacoma while the mommener fights the siren screams of the screen.
There be belly shots below. And food to boot! Or to eat...
Home Sweet Condo (in Roughly Thirty Days Provided That Wood be Knocked Effectively and All Go Well)!!
We are pending! Whoooooo and Whooooa and a little Wow!
On Monday night, we met with our realtor to craft an offer. Actually, he's kinda awesome, so he dropped by our house and we did it there. The condo is essentially everything we'd been looking for before we even really started looking. The price is great compared to what's around it. And we do have that whole "need to move before April 3rd" thing. Plus maybe we heard another couple was sniffing around making an offer, so it seemed like the time. We put a short deadline on it of 24 hours to discourage too much offer-shopping, and left very few terms. A good offer. For both of us.
Commence the clock and the agonizing wait.
We filled the wait with weighty appointments of a related area: financing. Between my conservative "owe nothing" paranoia and Andrew's momentary "let's finance as much as we can!" I think we kind of reached a consensus after several hours of having various professional run arcane numerical rituals and spewing out scenarios. My credit rating is superlative. Andrew's got dinged for the self-righteous stand he took against some private parking company ticket that got sent to collections. Moral being: Adella is always right. Or (W)right. Except when she forgets and signs all the legal documents as Adella Lindsey Thompson by mistake.
We are pending! Whoooooo and Whooooa and a little Wow!
On Monday night, we met with our realtor to craft an offer. Actually, he's kinda awesome, so he dropped by our house and we did it there. The condo is essentially everything we'd been looking for before we even really started looking. The price is great compared to what's around it. And we do have that whole "need to move before April 3rd" thing. Plus maybe we heard another couple was sniffing around making an offer, so it seemed like the time. We put a short deadline on it of 24 hours to discourage too much offer-shopping, and left very few terms. A good offer. For both of us.
Commence the clock and the agonizing wait.
We filled the wait with weighty appointments of a related area: financing. Between my conservative "owe nothing" paranoia and Andrew's momentary "let's finance as much as we can!" I think we kind of reached a consensus after several hours of having various professional run arcane numerical rituals and spewing out scenarios. My credit rating is superlative. Andrew's got dinged for the self-righteous stand he took against some private parking company ticket that got sent to collections. Moral being: Adella is always right. Or (W)right. Except when she forgets and signs all the legal documents as Adella Lindsey Thompson by mistake.
As it turns out, a bunch of good stuff kicks in if your down payment is bigger than 40% of the price. And the higher the down payment, the more flexibility the lender will give the whole transaction. We'd been thinking it would be nice if having the house wasn't more expensive than renting. So we decided that a comfortable approach was to figure out the ideal term for us and find the down payment that will result in roughly the same monthly payment when we include condo fees.
Yes, you have lots of advice to give on investing. I know. You've gamed the system before. You've heard how to. You've read books even. Or at least website synopses. No doubt. That said, we're awash in advice; every situation is unique, and at a certain point we just need to pick something and move forward. Quickly, in fact, since again we want to close in just about a month. And financing will take just about ... a month.
But if I thought taxes were abstruse, mortgage lending and all their points and various rates and algorithms etc. are twenty times the tumescence and half the fun! It was probably helpful for both Andrew and me to be at the first meeting. I got the bigger picture immediately, while Andrew didn't necessarily grasp some of those concepts but definitely got the more fine tuned numerical stuff.
Andrew actually met with a second guy alone, but from all I've heard, the first lender is way cooler for us, even if her software is antediluvian and took an eternity to chug through each time we queried after a novel scenario.
By early-afternoon, it was clear (1) that Andrew was not getting to work today after all, (2) that our brains were a collective mush of numbers and anxieties, and (3) that we might still have to wait until 9:00 p.m. to even know if things needed to go into hyperdrive! As such, I suggested we move our Wednesday date night to Tuesday, with option for Andrew to subrogate his trainer-ride with a nice mountain bike jaunt during the afternoon.
He was on board and - after a few more panicked checks of e-mail (realtor letting us know there was "no word yet"), we left our phones in spooning position and went off for Mexican aliments, and a "realty free zone" of an evening out. We even ignored the phones for much of the evening in order to cuddle and watch netflix until my face was scarlet and achey from all the body heat we'd generated.
And finally, having cleared our minds we returned down the rabbit hole to devour a signed contract with no changes. Leaving us pending! Our realtor left us a list of inspectors and told us to let him know which mortgage lender to send the contract to. Things are going to be interesting.
March will march along at a bit of a faster clip than usual, but I'm so glad to be barrelling forward in time for that purported pregnancy nesting urge to hit. By golly I shall nidificate in our own sweet condo! Prepare the twigs and shiny objects!
Yes, you have lots of advice to give on investing. I know. You've gamed the system before. You've heard how to. You've read books even. Or at least website synopses. No doubt. That said, we're awash in advice; every situation is unique, and at a certain point we just need to pick something and move forward. Quickly, in fact, since again we want to close in just about a month. And financing will take just about ... a month.
But if I thought taxes were abstruse, mortgage lending and all their points and various rates and algorithms etc. are twenty times the tumescence and half the fun! It was probably helpful for both Andrew and me to be at the first meeting. I got the bigger picture immediately, while Andrew didn't necessarily grasp some of those concepts but definitely got the more fine tuned numerical stuff.
Andrew actually met with a second guy alone, but from all I've heard, the first lender is way cooler for us, even if her software is antediluvian and took an eternity to chug through each time we queried after a novel scenario.
By early-afternoon, it was clear (1) that Andrew was not getting to work today after all, (2) that our brains were a collective mush of numbers and anxieties, and (3) that we might still have to wait until 9:00 p.m. to even know if things needed to go into hyperdrive! As such, I suggested we move our Wednesday date night to Tuesday, with option for Andrew to subrogate his trainer-ride with a nice mountain bike jaunt during the afternoon.
He was on board and - after a few more panicked checks of e-mail (realtor letting us know there was "no word yet"), we left our phones in spooning position and went off for Mexican aliments, and a "realty free zone" of an evening out. We even ignored the phones for much of the evening in order to cuddle and watch netflix until my face was scarlet and achey from all the body heat we'd generated.
And finally, having cleared our minds we returned down the rabbit hole to devour a signed contract with no changes. Leaving us pending! Our realtor left us a list of inspectors and told us to let him know which mortgage lender to send the contract to. Things are going to be interesting.
March will march along at a bit of a faster clip than usual, but I'm so glad to be barrelling forward in time for that purported pregnancy nesting urge to hit. By golly I shall nidificate in our own sweet condo! Prepare the twigs and shiny objects!
Nibble Nibble Tippee Toes and the Titillating Eye of the Housing Storm
As the house saga unfolds, we doomed-DINKS just briefly celebrate a respite in the mad tsunami of "stuff to do" surrounding us. I was on it yesterday! I got an inspection scheduled for Monday afternoon. Andrew and I got our official loan signing appointment set up and our rates locked i n. I extracted an insane amount of money for my portion of the down payment from my mildly anemic brokerage account (oh boy tax season 2015 begins with a huge sell off of profitable stocks!). The realtor got the contract to the loan person. We think we found the mortgage rate/payment/term that we want. Yadda yadda yadda.
And now, until Monday, a bit of a breather. Maybe a slight gasper, since the Fonzarelli does help me stay a wee bit on the short-of-breath side. I'm just so breathless in awe of the miracle of life... yeah, that's it! We may even have a weekend of not obsessing over every little housing detail. Although, we really ought to start thinking about packing and getting rid of all our excess detritus. Speaking of houses and moves and ... shudder.
To that end, I have a trunk full of "things that I will definitely not be wearing until several months after the baby is born." They are going into "storage," which is code for "my mom's house, because she's nice like that." As it turns out, being this far along doesn't really require maternity clothes per se, but it does pretty much limit me to a handful of athletic wardrobe items. Yoga pants and workout tanks with sturdy sports bras are miraculous. All those nice professional looking things really just don't have a place constricting ever tighter against my bulging belly.
As the house saga unfolds, we doomed-DINKS just briefly celebrate a respite in the mad tsunami of "stuff to do" surrounding us. I was on it yesterday! I got an inspection scheduled for Monday afternoon. Andrew and I got our official loan signing appointment set up and our rates locked i n. I extracted an insane amount of money for my portion of the down payment from my mildly anemic brokerage account (oh boy tax season 2015 begins with a huge sell off of profitable stocks!). The realtor got the contract to the loan person. We think we found the mortgage rate/payment/term that we want. Yadda yadda yadda.
And now, until Monday, a bit of a breather. Maybe a slight gasper, since the Fonzarelli does help me stay a wee bit on the short-of-breath side. I'm just so breathless in awe of the miracle of life... yeah, that's it! We may even have a weekend of not obsessing over every little housing detail. Although, we really ought to start thinking about packing and getting rid of all our excess detritus. Speaking of houses and moves and ... shudder.
To that end, I have a trunk full of "things that I will definitely not be wearing until several months after the baby is born." They are going into "storage," which is code for "my mom's house, because she's nice like that." As it turns out, being this far along doesn't really require maternity clothes per se, but it does pretty much limit me to a handful of athletic wardrobe items. Yoga pants and workout tanks with sturdy sports bras are miraculous. All those nice professional looking things really just don't have a place constricting ever tighter against my bulging belly.
Which is bumping a bit. Mostly, I still feel more bloated than preggers, but the shape of my belly button is going through some renovations and there's an odd firm and full quality to the protrusion which is qualitatively unique. Eventually I'll have a nice little shelf for holding things and keeping notes. Of course at that point, the Fonza-braeburn will be big enough to thrash said shelf into a bit of instability, but notes will still work.
The weekend promises to be a mite less frenetic. For me. Andrew, of course, is driving back to Tacoma for some race. Basically he'll be driving somewhere far away to race almost every weekend until after the baby is born at this point. Or so his race calendar would suggest. I'd cavil about the missed togetherness time, and leaving me in my increasingly "delicate condition" but would just as soon he get it out of his system before the big birthday. Besides, I've got things to do. Nests to upset and new ones to homify!
The weekend promises to be a mite less frenetic. For me. Andrew, of course, is driving back to Tacoma for some race. Basically he'll be driving somewhere far away to race almost every weekend until after the baby is born at this point. Or so his race calendar would suggest. I'd cavil about the missed togetherness time, and leaving me in my increasingly "delicate condition" but would just as soon he get it out of his system before the big birthday. Besides, I've got things to do. Nests to upset and new ones to homify!
Sweet Sixteen and the Avid Avocado
Ooooh, we've got an abdominal protrusion and a never-weak week sixteen to investimagate here. My little wunderkind is now nearly 3 whole ounces and is currently being compared to the following: an avocado; a large pear (Oh little baby Bosc Kalamata Wright, how I love you); or a small gerbil!
Ooooh, we've got an abdominal protrusion and a never-weak week sixteen to investimagate here. My little wunderkind is now nearly 3 whole ounces and is currently being compared to the following: an avocado; a large pear (Oh little baby Bosc Kalamata Wright, how I love you); or a small gerbil!
Still mugging and thrashing. Still suckling. Still can hear me. Possibly developing more hair and fat! And otherwise getting ready to raise heck and spew some colostrum in several months.
And me? I have a "cup of amniotic fluid," an 8 ounce uterus, and an avocado in my belly, so things are definitely feeling tight in my midsection area. Not looking particularly "tight" in that athletic argot, but not hugely pregnant yet either. People who know me can tell. My husband so helpfully said that it was super obvious because with my build and frame, I just wouldn't be expected to have that much bulk around my middle. True love. Adorable bulk or course! Doesn't look like fat either. Just really severe bloating, which also what it feels like. I'm already able to kind of palp the edges of my protrusion in a way I've never been able to before. And my skin and muscles and whatnot are feeling stretched for sure.
Which, I'm sure, is what I'll mistake any shreds of "the quickening" I might perceive as. Because how do you really distinguish the tum-tum-tum of a little gas gargling through a nearby system from a flutter-kick from Fonzie playing jump rope with the umbilical cord?
Is it macabre that the produce guides - er Week Sixteen of Pregnancy guides - are calling my wee little Fonzarelli an avocado the day after I was inspired to mash up an avocado into a delectable and sumptuous avocado pasta sauce? Does little Fonzie like blending in with the jicama, cabbage, lemon, scallions and olive oil before being heated up and poured over spaghetti then smothered in cheese and seeds? Is this some complex parenting ritual?
And me? I have a "cup of amniotic fluid," an 8 ounce uterus, and an avocado in my belly, so things are definitely feeling tight in my midsection area. Not looking particularly "tight" in that athletic argot, but not hugely pregnant yet either. People who know me can tell. My husband so helpfully said that it was super obvious because with my build and frame, I just wouldn't be expected to have that much bulk around my middle. True love. Adorable bulk or course! Doesn't look like fat either. Just really severe bloating, which also what it feels like. I'm already able to kind of palp the edges of my protrusion in a way I've never been able to before. And my skin and muscles and whatnot are feeling stretched for sure.
Which, I'm sure, is what I'll mistake any shreds of "the quickening" I might perceive as. Because how do you really distinguish the tum-tum-tum of a little gas gargling through a nearby system from a flutter-kick from Fonzie playing jump rope with the umbilical cord?
Is it macabre that the produce guides - er Week Sixteen of Pregnancy guides - are calling my wee little Fonzarelli an avocado the day after I was inspired to mash up an avocado into a delectable and sumptuous avocado pasta sauce? Does little Fonzie like blending in with the jicama, cabbage, lemon, scallions and olive oil before being heated up and poured over spaghetti then smothered in cheese and seeds? Is this some complex parenting ritual?
See, my officemate Leslie recently signed up for an organic delivery service. That means she is getting inundated in produce, particularly since she also made a pretty exciting spree down at Terra (nee Terra Organica) a few days back. I have so far scored several carrots, an acorn squash, jicama, and two leeks. Hence the inspiration for my avocado sauce yesterday. Well, that and I wanted a little avocado on my salad, and then thought it best to use up the rest before it fell into a grey-green desuetude.
I'm hoping she keeps on this service and keeps having extras! I am the queen of using up the excess produce of others! Have a garden? I'll take your zukes and summer squashes! Tell me you've got cabbage and kale as well, please!
So, really, I had no idea about Fonzie's ascendancy to Bartlett avocado until this morning. I swear. Must have been some twisted mother's intuition.
Anyways, better that than having made up a gerbil sauce. I hear it was actually gerbils - not poor calumniated rats after all - that spread the Plague way back when. I'll stick with the avocado, thanks!
Commence the Mud-Month March to Home Ownership And the Greenin' O'The Socks
Happy Mud-Month! Typically muddier due to the gradual thaw from our winter months, March may have a little less to really churl up in terms of roil and soil this time out. The Pacific Northwest has had one of the mildest, sunniest winters on record. In fact, I believe that we misfiled "Winter" under "Spring" this year, as all the trees and blooms are pullulated wildly and have been since mid-to-late February. Deeply curious what "Spring" will look like. Maybe another autumn? I like autumn.
The hub-a-hubby and I are tracing our mad trajectory towards being situated in our new condo by the end of the month. Of course, it's an accelerated process with several curve balls to come. We have reviewed roughly several billion pages of condo association legal mumbo-jumbo (I basically recognize vast swaths as boilerplate corporate and property bylaw legalese, having fabricated bylaws off of previous templates before, but that doesn't mean I'm capable of reading it closely and finding the odd word out necessarily). And budgets! And projected budgets! And all kinds of fun - yawn - stuff, that my Dad and I will also be looking over, because he looks at this stuff more often than we do.
Then off to the inspection, the loan signing, the ... oh yeah the moving part. Regardless of whether this place falls placidly into our ownership we will be moving somewhere at the end of the month. And, despite all my purgative efforts, we still have tons of crap. Andrew theoretically intends to sell off some of his excess stuff, like surplus car tires, neglected sporting equipment, etc., but we'll see. He got his skis sold. The one pair he never used. I still keep tripping over the car tires, which are on my side of the garage.
I've been rounding up bags of dross for Goodwill on a pretty routine basis, but never quite as quickly as the junk-quotient can replenish. Odd, since I don't really shop all that much. Magical stuff, possessions. Worse than Tribbles I did go through and do a very thorough cull of my - gasp - sock collection yesterday. Re-organized the keepers in clearer categories and filled a bag of "don't needs". Most of my clothes are in storage at my mom's house on the principle that I won't be wearing them for at least a handful of months after I give birth. And I've emptied out my large mirrored jewelry holder in the hopes of consigning it. It's not enough, but it's a start.
Today will be a day of mixed rest and food production for me, while the boy does yet another crazy race in Tacoma. Yes, I'm pretty sure that the drive there one-way is longer than the entire race. But he likes racing I guess. To each his own! Let him find the March mud and I'll keep watch over our mounting mountains of junk.
Happy Mud-Month! Typically muddier due to the gradual thaw from our winter months, March may have a little less to really churl up in terms of roil and soil this time out. The Pacific Northwest has had one of the mildest, sunniest winters on record. In fact, I believe that we misfiled "Winter" under "Spring" this year, as all the trees and blooms are pullulated wildly and have been since mid-to-late February. Deeply curious what "Spring" will look like. Maybe another autumn? I like autumn.
The hub-a-hubby and I are tracing our mad trajectory towards being situated in our new condo by the end of the month. Of course, it's an accelerated process with several curve balls to come. We have reviewed roughly several billion pages of condo association legal mumbo-jumbo (I basically recognize vast swaths as boilerplate corporate and property bylaw legalese, having fabricated bylaws off of previous templates before, but that doesn't mean I'm capable of reading it closely and finding the odd word out necessarily). And budgets! And projected budgets! And all kinds of fun - yawn - stuff, that my Dad and I will also be looking over, because he looks at this stuff more often than we do.
Then off to the inspection, the loan signing, the ... oh yeah the moving part. Regardless of whether this place falls placidly into our ownership we will be moving somewhere at the end of the month. And, despite all my purgative efforts, we still have tons of crap. Andrew theoretically intends to sell off some of his excess stuff, like surplus car tires, neglected sporting equipment, etc., but we'll see. He got his skis sold. The one pair he never used. I still keep tripping over the car tires, which are on my side of the garage.
I've been rounding up bags of dross for Goodwill on a pretty routine basis, but never quite as quickly as the junk-quotient can replenish. Odd, since I don't really shop all that much. Magical stuff, possessions. Worse than Tribbles I did go through and do a very thorough cull of my - gasp - sock collection yesterday. Re-organized the keepers in clearer categories and filled a bag of "don't needs". Most of my clothes are in storage at my mom's house on the principle that I won't be wearing them for at least a handful of months after I give birth. And I've emptied out my large mirrored jewelry holder in the hopes of consigning it. It's not enough, but it's a start.
Today will be a day of mixed rest and food production for me, while the boy does yet another crazy race in Tacoma. Yes, I'm pretty sure that the drive there one-way is longer than the entire race. But he likes racing I guess. To each his own! Let him find the March mud and I'll keep watch over our mounting mountains of junk.
Dazed Dreaming and the Monday Mummery Work Schmerk once again
So, I'm at work. For a few hours. Then I'll be back at the um-paloompa bank (called Umpqua by some) to sign a bunch of documents that promise our still incubating first-to-be-born as leverage for a few extra points on that mortgage thing. I think we sign in ichor. Or maybe cranberry juice. Just so long as it isn't coffee, because Andrew needs that schtuff at this hour.
So, I'm at work. For a few hours. Then I'll be back at the um-paloompa bank (called Umpqua by some) to sign a bunch of documents that promise our still incubating first-to-be-born as leverage for a few extra points on that mortgage thing. I think we sign in ichor. Or maybe cranberry juice. Just so long as it isn't coffee, because Andrew needs that schtuff at this hour.
Naw, I jest. It's a mind numbing process, treading water in all those meaningless numbers, but it's not very intimidating. Our agent is affable, and we more or less know what's what at this point. It will still take roughly seven ice-ages and an extra complimentary eon to slog through it all, but we'll get there.
Sure, after that, Andrew and I will both "go to work," but not for long on my part. I'll be off to our ever thrilling WCPBored (er, I didn't mean that really!) Board Meeting! Which also will have the plus of probably featuring a cute baby. Not my belly-button-swimmer, but the progeny of president and treasurer, the boy who will one day rule the roost. Or rebel and go full on litigation attorney just to break his custodians' hearts.
Shortly after, I'll need to skedaddle from that little klatsch to our new (pending) property (interest in a greater condominium whole) for the ceremonial inspection. Lord I hope I can find those extra checks I got printed out. Yes, yay! I have them. Phew! Time to pay an expert lots of money to tell me things that will inevitably be met with "lalalalala I can't hear you." because I really want this deal to go through and I'm dreading any rough winds that may shake the darling buds of March moving madness.
I think maybe once afternoon has hit, I'll be done with the decollated chick'n dance. Oh wait, well, I will be arranging to have somebody pick up my stand-alone mirrored jewelry case this evening. Right. I knew there was something else.
Let's get marching on through March so we can gloriously debouch into April.
All of this hubub has made my screen-time Lindt Ball challenge a bit harder. There are just so many times where open lines of communication are essential, and once the seal on screens and phones has been broken, it's hard to exercise restraint. Especially when people surrounding me are equally wed to their devices. I'm really fighting the current as I can. And not entirely failing. But it is definitely going to be a month of mandatory mindfulness not to fall into full screen-time sprawl. Because if I think this month is some event worthy of "exception" wait until there's a crying kicking little Fonzie on the outside (having been decidedly sprung from those loins).
But it being a weekday and this being my internet hour, I'll enjoy this little respite mindfullness-free! Bring on the fuzzy kittens. My brain needs a serious break!
Sure, after that, Andrew and I will both "go to work," but not for long on my part. I'll be off to our ever thrilling WCP
Shortly after, I'll need to skedaddle from that little klatsch to our new (pending) property (interest in a greater condominium whole) for the ceremonial inspection. Lord I hope I can find those extra checks I got printed out. Yes, yay! I have them. Phew! Time to pay an expert lots of money to tell me things that will inevitably be met with "lalalalala I can't hear you." because I really want this deal to go through and I'm dreading any rough winds that may shake the darling buds of March moving madness.
I think maybe once afternoon has hit, I'll be done with the decollated chick'n dance. Oh wait, well, I will be arranging to have somebody pick up my stand-alone mirrored jewelry case this evening. Right. I knew there was something else.
Let's get marching on through March so we can gloriously debouch into April.
All of this hubub has made my screen-time Lindt Ball challenge a bit harder. There are just so many times where open lines of communication are essential, and once the seal on screens and phones has been broken, it's hard to exercise restraint. Especially when people surrounding me are equally wed to their devices. I'm really fighting the current as I can. And not entirely failing. But it is definitely going to be a month of mandatory mindfulness not to fall into full screen-time sprawl. Because if I think this month is some event worthy of "exception" wait until there's a crying kicking little Fonzie on the outside (having been decidedly sprung from those loins).
But it being a weekday and this being my internet hour, I'll enjoy this little respite mindfullness-free! Bring on the fuzzy kittens. My brain needs a serious break!
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