As the seventeenth week winds its way ambitiously towards the coveted fifth month of gestation, little turnips get porky and start their circus careers. Paperwork cascades from the heavens in head-aching horrors of tumescence! As a quiet moment alights upon our weary wonders, the loss of a mom-boss to the other child blights the calm. And lolligaging with loans Excels to economic ecstasy (and or pregnant lady hormonal panic) cured only by a perambulation about Padden.
Over the Hump Day
We're sojourning at another brief interlude from our home buying fandango. My mad rushing is through (for now), and it's time for the bank and realtors to pick up the slack.
Loan papers have been signed and stamped. Our rates were locked in last Wednesday. This actually created some confusion, because the antediluvian machines don't handle minor tweaks particularly well, and we'd actually wanted to borrow a different amount at a different rate than the lock we'd received. No problem really, except it added an additional 45 minutes of shenanigans and skoperloit trying to get the various machines and programs to update and unlock in order to relock etc. etc. We actually didn't walk out of there with fully revised papers. But we signed a small mountain. And we think we know what we're getting into. As much as anyone can. Which isn't much.
The big inspection has been done, and it did not yield any gorgons in the basement or nuclear reactors in the garbage disposal. I love the guy that our realtor referred me to. He looks to be in his sixties. Kind of a guy I'd immediately think "neighbor!" about without knowing why. He was prompt in response. He was cheaper than all the managed inspection companies. He was chipper. He was focused. And oh my oh my was he ever in-depth! This is a condo, so he couldn't didn't look at several things typical to a home inspection. No crawl spaces, no electrical wiring shenanigans. Despite this, he was at the home from 1:30 -4:50 p.m. running every machine, crawling on every rooftop and taking photos of photos of photos. And his report followed roughly two hours after completion. He got everything imaginable and then some, while still presenting a balanced report that reminded us that no condo or home is in perfect condition, and all in all things looked good, but attached was a yearly maintenance schedule to keep our home from crumbling with age.
Finally, much hair-pulling analysis has been done of inscrutable budget ledger sheets and bloviating bylaws. Things seemed good, but there's just so many "what if we miss something" curiosities when you start mucking in the endless moors of periphrases and babelism. And Andrew has a methodical way of reviewing things that had not yet gotten a chance to shine until Monday evening, during which time I completed several crosswords and called it good.
All looks acceptable. The little dings in inspection seemed like they could be offset by the sellers leaving some of the personal property (shelves, tool storage etc) for us. And as our deadline for the inspection contingency drew nigh, we finally settled on "ok, this will work."
It's past now. The loan process has begun. We now get to kick back, watch anxiously for our respective down payment checks to come out of various brokerage accounts, and keep our fingers crossed for a clean assessment and smooth process. Back to obsessing over work and my increasingly titanic but taut belly bulge. And maybe all that packing rot that looms ever nearer. And probably something to do with several bikes and a mad training schedule, but I'll leave that to the huba-hubby.
Phew, good to kick back, as well as I can in my current condition (not the baby, just my general insanity)!
Return of the ThursdaWedsdaFriday and Mom-Boss' Last Stand Gramma Pam Strikes Back
I keep telling Gramma Pam this, but she doesn't seem to hear: now that I've got the ultimate grandkid (literally ultimate, since I don't see either of us Thompson gals reproducing after this last Fonzarelli), she no longer needs to dally with all those trainer-grandkids the other daughter. I mean, ours is obviously the singularly superior grandkid.
For one, proximity! I mean the darned thing will be two offices down for roughly the first year of its life. And once we're all moved into our new condo, the wee one will be a ten minute drive (conservatively) away. Talk about convenience!
For another, concentrated grandkid. What with there being three of the others, obviously her grandchildness-experience has a requisite scattering. Not to mention that the difficulty of handling any child exponentially increases with the quantity of them.
So, ultimate grandkid will be closer, easier... and well, I mean this is my child so obviously it will just be breathtakingly amazing. Actually Andrew and I have laid odds that - given our respective -er - complementarities of talent and intellect - our child will either be a scintillating polymath or a looby dimwit. But either way, that will be endearing, I'm sure.
Nonetheless, Ms. Englett continues to insist on spreading the grandmotherly wealth. Maybe even seeing her other daughter, which I've frequently pointed out is quite anserine, seeing as said daughter willingly moved very far away and therefore has ceded all rights to maternal succour.
As such, tomorrow shall commence her annual New Jersey Pilgrimage. Me jealous? Just because I can't really travel in a car for more than an hour without getting sick and sure as heck won't be on a plane to Jersey anytime this year? Naw. I just think her choice is irrational given the explanations above. I'm pretty sure visiting all three of my nephews and their overscheduled-overachiever parents in my delicate condition would kill me, but I still will miss the chance to visit this year. And may feel a whole lot of missing out on all the craziness mom-boss is about to experience with the rest of the family.
In order to abandon her darling daughter and associate attorney, she will be leaving at tomorrow morning's witching hour. Effectively, this is her Friday. Except our usual Wednesday errands were postponed until today as well, because of a tighter schedule yesterday. So it is both Friday and Wednesday. And neither. Quantum workweek!!! AAAAGH!!
Last year I took advantage of mom-boss' absence to become so embroiled in Infinite Jest, that I stopped speaking to anyone for a couple of weeks. I think this year, I might have a bit more of a tether line to reality nagging at me. What with the packing and moving and gestating and whatnot. But it is tempting to slip into oblivion again.
Until then, the inevitable mad dash of catch-up before the big-Attorney goes off the playground for a while. Followed by the eerie quiet of her absence, as we wait for various emergencies and plunk through our little projects.
As the Turnip Turns Fat and Sweaty (and a slight shade of seasonal green)
As mom-boss dissolves into the magnificent Gramma Pam en route to clean and coddle and love the heck out of the other daughter and grandkids, I have decided to proceed with my ascension into week 17 of this pregnancy imbroglio! I had considered suspending it on her behalf, but then again she's leaving us, right? Wright??
So this week, I've got options again on envisioning my little wriggling Fonzarelli (whom I may or may not have felt fluttering about in my belly, but with all the other cavils of midsection being stretched and coerced and crowded in all directions in the middle of perpetual indigestion, I couldn't say that for certain). Drum roll please...
Our little monster is now a turnip; a pear (again?); an onion; a large orange; or a kid-size single serving yogurt (hopefully not onion flavored). This is all code for being roughly 6 inches long and about 5 ounces.
I'd say we're on our way to an exceptionally tasty salad if we bring back the avocado from last week!
And oh oh oh, the little onion is getting porky! Or at least finally developing some nice brown fat along with sweat glands. Apparently once the darned creature springs from my loins, it'll be about 2/3 body fat. Little porcine pear!
Fonzie's head is proportional and whirring about with synapses, creating all the connections necessary to process senses and get startled at sharp noises like dogs, doorbells, and telephones (see, that's why I always have my phone on silent! Me and the kiddo have so much in common!) And definitely going for Rockettes with (now) disproportionately loooooong legs and a rubbery skeleton! My little Cirque du Fonzeil!
As for me, it's a laundry list (does anyone actually write laundry lists at this point? I mostly just dump and dial on the quick wash) of familiar symptoms. I feel so justified. I've got dry eyes! Perpetual congestion! Higher sensitivity to allergens (perfectly timed for our unseasonably esteval winter's end) and might even start getting rashes and reactions I've never had before! Heart burn! A perpetual heat wave in my body leading me to feel aflame once the icicles start to drip. Brittle nails (newer one).
And I'm promised I'll soon be accosted by rabid belly-touchers. So far, just my husband and he's not reaching for my belly exactly...
Then there's the onset of even itchier and drier skin, as everything gets stretched out. I already have stretch marks from my youth as a zaftig mama (I was about fifty pounds heavier in my late teens, which melted off pretty successively throughout my twenties down to ten pounds lighter than I am now - so, more than my anticipated weight fluctuations during the pregnancy, although a lot more evenly distributed I'd warrant), but I'm promised more. I am, of course experimenting with cocoa butter. I feel like some creams just make everything worse. The cocoa butter is fairly pure, so I'm hoping my skin will react a little less obstreperously to it, but it's also pretty thick and greasy. And my skin feels kind of weird afterwards. I've been combining it with a light Vaseline brand cream to see if I can get a bit away from sand-paper.
In sexier news, the bedroom... oh la la. I'm supposed to sleep on my left side from here out. Sadly I can't do it. My arm falls asleep after a half hour. My hips get sore. I don't care how many pillows I use, this is pretty consistent. I just feel better sleeping when I'm propped up by three pillows under my back and another under my legs. Minimizes the heartburn and keeps the circulation moving. Besides, I'm told I should be developing a sexy hippo snore around now, and sleeping propped up is supposed to help with that.
But the energy and appetite are doing pretty well. I still prefer a nap and have middling brain processing compared to my usual acuity. And the clumsiness deepens in hue and hone. But it being all relative, I am having to hold myself back from doing anything too strenuous as I mostly feel "awesome compared to first trimester." My little ab muscles are starting to feel the stretch and twinges; at times it feels like they might just snap. A good sign that I should lay off trying to move lots of heavy things at once, or twist around while holding things etc. etc. Clearly I need myself a cabana boy to help me with the household chores.
So phew, all in all, not a bad week to be reaching. And one with a lovely little rest in store (rat-tat-tat on that wood). The condo sale is moving along of its own momentum for a while. The office may either become quite still or totally mad with the absence of mom-boss. And I'm back on the phone listening to the eternal IRB meeting.
Naturally, it's party time at Englettlaw. WHOOOOOO! By which I mean "time to lock the doors and take long naps between watching online episodes of the Daily Show or whatever else netflix will play for me." And cheers, that's not green beer on my socks (tsk tsk, in my condition) but shamrock shakes, of course! In a beer stein because why not??
In Honor of Mombossa Gramma Pamalammadingong Off season sportingly, but quite the seasonal color
Phew, Gramma Pam made it to the East Coast. I shouldn't say things like "phew." I would have just as soon selfishly kept her here. Or at the Seattle Sheraton, as I so helpfully suggested once she missed her connection at Seatac and was considering her options. Certainly other daughter could have flown out! I do like other daughter (a/k/a "Rachel" a/k/a "Tormentor of my childhood who finally showed mercy, let me live and turned into a likable and fun person in her own right"). We could have had a girls' weekend! Where it's warm and sunny and beautiful out. Daddy Ryan could have watched the boys for a while.
Ah well. Second best scenario was that the flight fandango worked out without too much fuss or bother. And well, both my parents did end up in California this weekend after all (my dad is visiting the uber Aunties down there). Though only briefly. For a short connection. But not so short that it was missed. Gramma Pam left Bellingham at 6 a.m. and reached Newark at 9:45 p.m. (so just over twelve hours of airports). I then witnessed an unfolding stichomythia of texts between other daughter and Gramma Pam as they desperately attempted to be at the same pick up spot at the same time. I am envisioning a very Escheresque Moebius strip of an arrival area. But somewhere along the way, they met up, cars were loaded and she got to the Falconer home.
I spent my moorless boss-free day on fairly good behavior. I even worked. Leslie even worked. I got to sign "on behalf of" mom-boss on several legal filings. Talk about feeling important. And I had a brief interlude of lunch with Azita. Inertia is strong with friend-meet-ups. Glad we broke the stasis this time out.
And now for a momless weekend. Waaaaa waaaaa. I'll somehow survive. Andrew will probably do several horrible things with his bikes. He's now also going to rerun some overly complicated excel program to decide whether - now that he has his inheritance money - he actually wants to pay off his student loans after all (cue debt phobic, change-averse Adella panic). I guess the interest rates are fairly low and now that he's got big bucks, he's thinking about a BIG TRIP TO VEGAS!!!
No, actually he thinks he could increase his net wealth by investing. Which is a lovely idea so long as the doomsday scenarios of complete market meltdown various economists keep touting don't pan out. I'm hoping they don't, really, but try not to bet on it too strongly.
It's a little disorienting to hear his new curiosity as I thought we were much more on the same page about our financial goals. And I think we were before the money changed them. I'd just gotten it fixed in my head that paying off debt was his first priority, so I was a little flummoxed when he implied that not only was he happy to take on the mortgage debt, but also to keep up his student debt.
Again, it all makes sense from a net wealth statistical comparison of risks and returns perspective yadda yadda yadda (except for that unless you have way more money it doesn't really make a difference all that much and that pesky risk nonsense), but it took me back a bit to realize maybe we have lapses in communication on finances that leave us not always on the same page. Gasp!
And he's been thinking about this for a little while, so it also took me back that I hadn't heard these thoughts developing until last night. Of course I'm a wet blanket and want to concoct some sense of what happens with a baby present (rising monthly expenses and decreasing income), when I work/make less, etc. etc. But I'll adjust. I usually do. Surprises just ... surprise me. But they're his debts and his money (legally as well as objectively). So his call. But running his little spreadsheets will take a good bulk of the day.
If I'm clever, I will continue my packing trajectory buy buying a few more storage containers and packing up a few more "things I won't need for a while." We'll see if I'm clever or otherwise distracted with the whimsical adventures of life. Maybe I need some spreadsheets of my own!
Springtime for Bonzo and the Mighty Tome of Time Vortexts
I don't care what that pesky little groundhog may have seen or unseen or never seen or thought-he-seen, shadow-wise. Nor do I care if he attacked the mayor, his shadow or all of Detroit while doing it. It may be winter elsewhere in the US of A, but it is comfortable spring here. Has been since February, so who knows if we just misfiled spring and winter (maybe April will be fall again?), but I'm willing to accept this is no longer in the "unseasonably warm" category. 'Tis the vernal season, tra la la la la, baby!
As is my wont on these weekend, I took a minor trek around the neighboring Lake Padden. Which won't be so neighboring in just a few weeks (yikes! 3 weeks 'til closing!!!). A whole new set of bauers and verdance and endless arteries of trails into the unknown middle earth will replace it! But a few more weeks around the Ol' Lake...
... After shopping... and purchasing all of my groceries with change found around the house while cleaning and packing. That's right, I spent $35 in change at the self-checkout aisle. I'm that crazy old cat-women but recast in the modern age. More fun than slot machines, and a much higher rate of return!
... aaaand after making yogurt, hardboiling eggs, preparing dinner fixings, and picking Andrew up at the car infirmary (squealing again, needing new brakes and lacking a headlamp - the car, not him).
But I made it on that walk by golly. Both days, actually.
The rest of the weekend was a pleasant balance of productive and placid. Andrew drove his hoards of numbers into the Excel corral and sorted out several complex scenarios based on a number of theoretical assumptions (market rate of return will be 10%, he will have x amount of money to invest or pay off loans each month, the Mad Max apocalypse will come ten years from now, neither one of us will discover ourselves to be the adopted long-lost monarch of a small nation island and/or he neglects to invent that Hammacher Schlemmer item that will resign us both to a life of lucrative leisure...). His aim was to compare what happens if he (1) uses the remainder of his inheritance to pay off all of his student loans, (2) reduces his monthly payment to the minimum, invests the money in index funds and puts any excess after the minimum payment into the market, or (3) puts the money into the market, but makes the maximum student loan payment.
Drum roll, please...
Turns out with all those assumptions being equal (and they won't be, of course), he could improve his net worth by a whopping $6,000 over 5 years to ladle his cash into the market and make minimum payments)! Ok, so $6k in a day sounds impressive. Even a week or a month. Once you string it out over that time period, though, we're talking the difference between buying cheap eggs and cruelty free eggs at the supermarket every week. A little over $2 a week. Which is kind of like all those dumb "give up your morning latte and save $(billions) over the course of a (longish time period)" kind of things that do make some sense until you decide you actually think your morning latte is worth that much and it's only $2 (ok, this is a latte, so um $4). Really, we should make an extra scenario in which we just skip our weekly date night and invest the $20-$30 we spend on that into index funds every week...
So, yeah, kind of a wash. Worth it to me to purchase the certainty of a loanless existence against the uncertainty of the market. I'm not sure Andrew felt strongly any way, but last I heard, he thinks he'll just pay the loans and save himself the hassle of handling those payments (now to two separate entities) every month.
Phew, all those charts and things made my head spin. I'll have to figure out what to do with the rest of my monies after we finalize the house deal. Having a kiddo changes things a decent amount. It's always been the "unless we have kids and then everything blows up" contingency on all of our plans. We're sorting things out slowly but since "kids" are utterly unpredictable typhoons, well... it may be a while. Like until Fonzie is about fifty and figuring out which home to place us in...
My continuing mantra whenever Andrew starts musing about financial stuff is "I'm going to be working less, and after my mom retires our joint income is nosediving, and our expenses will be more." I'm helpful like that, but it's true. Just like that out there as a pre-established assumption before we go much further. Pollyanna is my middle name! My second mantra is "but remember I'm a lawyer who's trained to approach every new idea with the assumption it is wrong and I will find the wrongness or wander into agreeing after a thorough search, so give me time with it."
In the meantime, I'll keep earning that money nonsense. Mom-boss is gone for an entire work-week. Let the havoc begin!
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