Family | BulgingButtons

February 21, 2014
by BulgingButtons 4 Comments

Want to Buy My House?

This could be your next home.

We are live at last. The listing for my house, that is. All the little jobs have been done, all the clutter has been conquered, and all the cleaning has been finished. The paperwork has been completed, the photos taken, and the listing posted.

Late last night my ever patient realtor sent me the draft of the listing for my final approval, and this morning it is official. My home is available for sale.

I have mixed feelings about this. I want to move on and buy a house with my sweetheart that will truly be a home for us and my son (and the dog, of course). I want to have a little more space. I want to be a little closer to work (I think). All of these are good reasons to sell now, especially since the market conditions have improved since I bought. But there is a flip side.

I will miss this house. This house represented a victory for me. It proved that I would be all right even post divorce. It showed me that I could manage on my own, and have a safe and comfortable place for myself and my son (and the dog, of course). It was mine, all mine, to do with as I pleased. I made some quality improvements, and I made it a warm, comfortable home. I am proud of that fact.

Still, there is a time and place for everything, and now is the time to move to the next place. If you know someone looking for a great 4 bedroom, 2 bath home with a pool and easy freeway access, please send them my way.

February 1, 2014
by BulgingButtons 13 Comments

February Focus – Sell This House

It’s time to move on. This has been a great home for us, and we have it almost the way I want it, but it’s time to go.

When I first saw this house in the summer of 2011 I was newly divorced and needed a place to call home for me, the boy, and the dog. My budget was tight, and my list of must haves was firm. I needed a safe neighborhood. I needed a commute that wouldn’t kill me. I needed a certain amount of space. And I needed a pool. Yes, really. It’s hot here and I actually enjoy exercising in the water. To me, it’s worth it.

There were plenty of homes on the market in my price range, but they had needs too. They needed appliances. They needed new roofs. They needed new air conditioning units. They needed to be completely gutted because the previous owners left angry. I saw things I never thought I would see. I saw a kitchen where every door and drawer had been opened, including the oven door, and a can of paint had been splashed over every surface, inside and out, from ceiling to floor. I saw a house where every light fixture had been ripped down. I saw a house where the toilets had been smashed. I saw a house with a spray painted wall sharing the previous owner’s feeling toward a particular bank. I saw a house with multiple holes drilled through every single door, including cabinet doors. It was disheartening.

Then I saw my house listed. The picture online was pretty. We got in to see it right away. It was empty; bank owned. It was in a nice area, it was bright and open, and it had a pool. Yes, the backyard was tiny, but less to maintain. The house was more or less more in ready. I had seen enough. I knew this was the one and I had to move fast. Negotiations began, and we got the ball rolling. That was in August. I moved in the week before Christmas in a move that can be best described as a nightmare. My furniture and belongings were held hostage on the truck as the movers demanded cash, although I confirmed that they would accept credit. That was only part of the nightmare, but I’ve put it behind me. We settled in and began making it a home.

In the meantime I started dating my sweetheart. In fact I met him while I was house hunting. I had no idea that he and I would build a life together. This house was purchased for me, the boy, and the dog.

Things change. Last spring it became clear that it was silly for us to continue to maintain two households. He moved in with us, and we have all adjusted nicely. Especially the dog. Last summer we talked about the possibility of moving. I poked around and saw a couple of houses, but the pickings were slim and the idea of another move was daunting. I shelved the idea. We would make this house work for all of us. It was fine. In fact, it was nice. It is nice.

So why do I want to sell? The thing is, not too long ago the vacant lot on the other side of the street from me became a construction zone. Oh. It’s behind a block wall, and it wouldn’t be accessible from our street, but we would see it. Every day. It’s time to move.

The market has changed. My house is worth more. We have two incomes. It’s time.

The house is in good condition, but there are a few little things that need to be dealt with. We’re dealing with them. Today included a new towel bar, a new light fixture, the removal of a tv dish that we never used, and some yard work. A trip to Home Depot is in order, and some calking should make for a hot date night. I’m excited and nervous all at once. If you know anyone who needs a great house in a nice neighborhood with a view of a temporary construction site, please send them my way. Oh, and keep your fingers crossed for me.

January 27, 2014
by BulgingButtons 13 Comments

My Poor Aching Feet

The other night my dear mother took me out for a night out in honor of my father’s birthday. He passed away more than a decade ago, but we still celebrate his birthday. We ate a delicious dinner, then enjoyed the opera at Symphony Hall. It was a fine, elegant evening.

Here’s the thing, though, my feet are killing me as a result. We parked in a garage near the opera hall and walked two blocks to the restaurant. Two blocks. Not even long blocks. Short blocks. Tiny blocks. Hardly even blocks at all. It was fine. Not a problem. I mean, I didn’t walk quite as quickly as mom, but her heels weren’t quite as high as mine. At least I don’t think they were.

They aren’t really that high, those heels. I would call them a “moderate” heel. They’re a cute pair of peep-toe sling-backs. I’ve worn them on many occasions, and they dress up an outfit beautifully. I hadn’t worn them recently, though. Apparently the last time I wore them I was younger and lighter. Well, younger for sure, I’m not sure about lighter.

I began to realize that they might not have been the best choice as we descended the metal stairs from the fourth level of the parking garage. As I clanged my way down my toes began to feel a little pinched. No big deal, I thought, I can handle this. I was happy to arrive at the restaurant and take my seat. I didn’t give my tootsies another thought until we were on our way back to Symphony Hall. Holy cow, my mom can move for a woman her age. I did my best to keep up. How embarrassing.

We got there early so we milled around the lobby before the doors were opened for seating. Finally we headed inside the theater proper. Our seats were on the aisle, so we kept popping up to allow people to go by. By the time the lights went down I was ready to remove my shoes. I didn’t though, because I knew putting them back on would be worse. The good news is the performance was magnificent, and had my full attention.

Intermission, on the other hand, was miserable. We hustled off to the ladies room along with every other woman in that theater, and stood in line. Fortunately it moved quickly, because by this point my feet just plain hurt. Normally my mother likes to wander the lobby. She often bumps into an acquaintance or two. These little exchanges make me somewhat uncomfortable under the best of circumstances, but add in achy feet, and I took a pass. I think mom was a bit disappointed, but she joined me back at our seats.

The second act was just as wonderful as the first, and the standing ovation was well deserved, if not comfortable. Then came the walk back to the parking garage and the climb up the metal stairs to the fourth level. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.

I think I may have to swear off heels for a while, until there is less of me to support on the balls of my feet. My honey doesn’t exactly tower over me, so I usually choose flats anyway these days. Maybe I’ll send those heels packing. They have served their purpose, and they no longer meet my needs. Meanwhile, my poor feet are still aching. Tomorrow I think I’ll wear tennis shoes.