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Update (approximately 12 hours later): I am feeling guilty and lousy for failing to appreciate the fact that we’re about to move into a really cute house in our city’s hippest, single-family residence neighborhood. Saw pictures of what a “starter home” in the Bay Area is going for and this confirmed for me why I should be happy, jumping for joy, and grateful. And not so whiny and pissy. I can life with one bathroom, smallish bedrooms, and a few home improvement projects (DIY, naturally). Seriously.
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We made an offer on a house. Our offer was accepted. It’s a 1920s Craftsman Bungalow. With a porch. Yes, all that we wanted, and in the neighborhood of choice. But it’s small. Bathroom is tiny and bedrooms not too far from tiny. Basement needs more work than we realized (it’s partially finished). Even so, we’re going to end up paying about 20K less than we thought we’d have to pay to get into this neighborhood (and into a real Craftsman). And the yard — it comes with raspberry shrubs (or would that be bushes?). So we’re happy. Our starter home — and with room to grow.
That is, if they’ll agree to a few post-inspection requests.
Stay tuned.
Our first porch. Wicker not included.
I guess I really am sensitive to circumstances. And I’m not (just) talking about things like hate-crimes, genocide, world hunger and climate change. I’m talking about the petty little issues that make up my so-called “first world problems.” Like being unable to find the right house in these first few weeks of our search. I really thought we’d find a house in a week or less. Mainstream media keeps talking about all of the houses left unsold, the nosediving housing prices, the buyer’s market phenom. But this doesn’t seem to apply as much to Crunchyville. And we are now well into our second month on the market.
And I’m not sleeping. Three hours last night. Yep. Three. Today I’m actually going to dole out some extra cash to drop Bump off at his daycare. We don’t normally do daycare on Thursdays because of our work schedules, but I can’t imagine being able to run on empty until six tonight. Plus we have a dinner engagement, so I definitely need to sleep if only to be able to talk coherently for the evening.
Our new dilemma: do we downsize and move into a house that is under 1200 sqft. so we can live closer to work (we both work on campus, which is also where Bump’s preschool will be for the next three years), and so we can avoid spending so much money on a mortgage? Or do we find a home within the 1200-1500sqft range that is a bit further out (but still a 10-15 minute commute) and a bit pricier (but still theoretically within our range)? Part of me thinks we should opt for the latter because we’ll want to leg room and the space and it will be worth the price. The other, Virgoan part of me thinks that would be foolish in today’s uncertain times (stagflation, energy, yadda yadda yadda). These are the questions keeping me up at night. Somebody please: throw me a house or a soporific. This gal needs to chill.
Dear Reader:
May you never, ever ever have to look for a house to buy in Crunchyville, USA (where I live, of course). Why? Because unlike the rest of our dear nation, the housing market is alive and well (and on its way up from a little case of the sniffles, if that). For homeowners and potential sellers, this is good news. For first time home-buyers making a modest living? Not so good. Prices are “soft,” but not that soft.
How do I know this? Yesterday Mr. G and I made an offer on a beautiful home. Our offer was solid: we offered the asking price. We thought about offering less — because of the so-called soft market — but we didn’t want to risk getting outbid.
We got out bid. Somebody offered above the asking price. No, you haven’t entered the twilight zone. Just Crunchyville. This is a place where all the homes worth caring about are not only selling, but being bid on by multiple desperate home buyers.
What’s with houses like the one below? Anybody want a garage with a house attached to it? We don’t!
Just looking at it is making me queasy. It’s houses like this that have us convinced that our options are limited. And if we can’t live in a cute Craftsman, Rambler, or Bungalow (you know, something built before the McMansion Era) we will resign ourselves to another long year of renting bliss. I just can’t do it, folks.
Well, we are officially Crunchyville residents. We moved last Thursday and have spent the past four days unpacking, arranging (and re-arranging) furniture, and playfully arguing over who gets which side of the room/closet/desk.
The move itself was a complete disaster. The movers were 7 hours late and took about 4 hours to make the 1.5 hour drive from our apartment to Crunchyville. I didn’t sign the paperwork until 4:08AM, which meant Mr. G and I got about 1.5 hours of sleep before Bump, who slept through the entire ordeal, woke for his early-AM nursing session.
Mr. Grubby, who has actually worked for a moving company, regrets that we actually hired so-called “professionals.” I understand why: together the two of us could’ve finished the job in half the time. Although we had originally planned on having the movers do everything from pack to load and unload, we ended up doing about 95% of the packing ourselves and did our own share of loading and loading. The good news is Crunchyville U. is covering the expenses. The bad new is they’re not likely to comp two full massages for the Hub and I.
We’re over the fretting, though, because we dig our new digs. Lots of space and windows, an obscenely large yard and, I’m somewhat embarrassed to say it, a two-car garage. For long-time city apartment dwellers, these are luxuries beyond belief. Here are some “before” shots of the place as we slowly, very slowly, settle into home sweet home:
Shot of kitchen and adjacent room. I suppose the latter is supposed to be a formal dining area, but we’re keeping it relatively empty for Bump. The kid needs his space. There’s a kitchen table to the right of the island..”this here is where Ma and Pa chow down” (anyone?)
Living room. Note the odd white couch, which is now in our third bedroom (our eventual office/study). Note too the missing television. Ours broke after the move. Damn.
What you’re looking at are just a few of the book boxes. We have way too many books, friends. Also in the background is our favorite window. In the land of perpetual grayness, windows like this rock.
A few good books and the ever important white wine (it kept us going, and going…)
The original choice for Bump’s room. We’ve decided to give him a smaller room so we can turn this into a study/office. We have a few more years before he’ll even begin to care…so whatever.
The morning after our nightmare move found Bump quite content at his new toddler table. Freakin’ A, he’s a cute one.
The flowers and trees, though gorgeous, didn’t steal the show. Bump did:
Is he not the most photogenic baby you’ve ever seen?
Inside, it was all about the cake and toys:
Bump’s actual birthday (August 3) is a day before Winch’s (short for Winchell, a nickname she chose herself). She’s an old-friend of mine who I met a decade ago in Graduate School. The cake — for both of them — was supposed to read “Feliz Cumpleanos,” which is Happy Birthday in Spanish:
Bump scored big time. Books galore, two gift certificates, swimming lessons, stuffed animals, and what I think will be his first favorite, the “Monster Bowling” set featured below:
Did I mention the Pinata? 
All in all, I think we did well, no?
