One step closer: Selling Lester's house

Miracles of miracles -- we are under contract on Lester's house in D.C.!

After our first date, Lester and I came here to this house and stayed up until the wee hours of the morning, talking about any and everything. Our first date was June 2, 2006 -- exactly 8 years ago today.

I don't know if we under-priced it or if we priced it just right, but we put the house on the market on Tuesday, and we had three offers by Thursday and a signed contract on Saturday. Whoa!

We're not going to make a ton of money, especially after all the seller's fees and paying off the mortgage and whatever taxes we have to cough up, etc. But selling this house is just one step on the road to getting out of our crappy neighborhood and into a better one, out of our teeny house and into a bigger one.

We have many, many, many steps left to go -- not the least of which is that both of us have to make more money. Considerably more. And we all know that better-paying jobs aren't falling off of trees these days. So, we're not really close to moving. But we're closer.

Selling the house also comes at another huge cost for Lester, because this house is the house he lived in since birth. He and his mother -- his first and closest friend -- shared so much in this house; it's the backdrop for most of his childhood memories, both good and bad. I could say a lot more about what this house means to him, but it's his story to tell, not mine, and so much of the story is hugely personal and tangled with mixed emotions.

So it means so much to me that, in order to help move our family forward, my husband is willing to part with this house that has helped to shape so much of who he is. 

And it also makes me feel even closer to his mother -- a woman I never got the chance to meet -- for her role in our family's future. She raised the man of my dreams here in this house. She left this house to him when she died. Because of this house, my children -- her grandchildren -- will have a more comfortable home to live in someday.

And her legacy just goes on...

How three children change your perspective

Sitting in the basement watching Mad Men on Sunday night with Lester -- bowl of buttered popcorn and Raisinets in hand -- I was awash with feelings of comfort, stability and gratefulness. I looked around the little playroom and said, "This house isn't so bad. It's kinda cozy down here."

And then I prayed silently to God, thanking Him for his many blessings, including a warm and comfortable home for me and my family.

Not a day later, I was back to my old griping. This house is entirely too small! There's no counter space in the kitchen and no cabinet space either. There's stuff everywhere - nothing has its own place, because there are no more PLACES to put anything! Trying to bathe the kids at night is like a comedic version of Cirque du Soleil. There's just no way to do it without tripping all over oneself and one another, as you acrobatically try to get them clean, rinsed and out safely. The lighting in here is terrible - if Lester walks in the kitchen, I can't see what I'm trying to chop or peel or pour. The back-patch where the kids have been playing now that it's warm is laughable. The closet space makes me sob (not kidding).

I started beating myself up. Why did I buy this house? What was I thinking? Didn't I know this house was a disaster?

And the truth is, I didn't. Because I was unmarried and childfree at the time and my perspective was totally different. I even went back and looked up a first-person essay I wrote for The Sun about my home-buying experience -- and I can't believe how gushy I was about this epic fail of a purchase!

###

Welcoming herself to her humble abode

True Tales From Everyday Living

May 27, 2007|By Tanika White | Tanika White,Sun Reporter

Recently, I was watching the Discovery Channel's Walking with Cavemen and discovered that earliest man perished, at least in part, because he was too small-brained to find a way to properly shelter himself.

So it's not just me, my own small brain happily thought. People have been having trouble finding housing for the past million years.

This should be good news to all of you out there who are going through what I just did this spring: buying a house for the first time.

If your experience is anything like mine was, new home-seeker, you're wondering at least weekly -- more likely, daily -- "Why am I doing this again?"

Now that I'm in my house, I can try to help you with that. The first-time home-buying experience was, for me, a little like childbirth. Well, I have no children, so I'll say instead that it was a lot like what I imagine pregnancy and child-bearing to be. It was exciting in the beginning, angst-filled and somewhat painful through the middle, and really awesome at the end.

This little rowhouse, cute as it can be, is my little baby. And I'm incredibly happy.

But the home-buying ordeal was a total bear -- a hassle and emotional roller coaster I found surprising, considering how many of my peers have had homes for years, and how simple city and state programs make the process seem in promotions and advertisements.

The search itself was the most emotionally exhausting. For about a year, I scanned home listings in the city, and when one or a few popped up that fit even somewhat with my criteria (3 bedrooms, at least 1.5 baths, central air and mostly updated systems and appliances), I'd call my Realtor, and we'd be out the following weekend on a half-day-long mission to view them.

Unfortunately, most times, waiting for the weekend was waiting too long. It may be a buyer's market, but for a decent house in a nonscary neighborhood in my $130,000-$160,000 price range, many sellers had no shortage of eager buyers. By the time my real estate agent and I showed up, many contracts would already have been submitted -- some offering more than the asking price.

As a result, I'd see a great house and get my hopes up high, only to have them dashed by a smug seller's agent with, "I'm sorry. We accepted another contract."

Time and time again, I felt like the ugly girl at the prom. What was wrong with my offers? What was wrong with me?

Homeowners, friends and my agent encouraged me each time I was jilted: Hang in there, they'd say. That just wasn't your house. Your house is coming.

It took a year, but my house did come. I found her in January (yes, it's a girl!), on a day when the listings my agent produced seemed dubious at best. But much like that blind-date-turned-into-the-love-of-my-life-story every one of us has heard of, I had prepared myself for disappointment and ended the day pleasantly surprised.

The house -- in the up-and-coming Belair-Edison neighborhood -- was cute, cute, cute, with most of the things I wanted (except a dishwasher) and some perks I hadn't dreamed of (a Jacuzzi tub)! I was lucky enough to find a fair and friendly seller. And I settled on the house and moved in in March.

I felt a little bit like Cro-Magnon man going through the excruciating financing part of my home-buying experience, as well. But I scratched my head and grunted through, somehow. At settlement, I scrawled out a check for more money than I've ever spent at one time, and that's when it really felt final. I was a homeowner -- and the proof was my empty bank account.

The good news is everyone tells me I'll get used to my new, much-diminished pot of disposable income. Two months and not a pair of new shoes later, I find that hard to believe.

But for now, like a new mom, all I do is talk about my house. And I spend pretty much all my time, energy and money decorating and sprucing, painting and prettying. I coo over my house and worry about small things. (What's that crack in the wall?)

I want the very best for her.

So I may be broke (for the time being) and I might not know a Roman shade from Ramen noodles (dinner of choice for new homeowners the world over), but I love my little house.

Which means I've done my part to save humanity!

After all, the Discovery Channel says that when later species of man developed feelings of love and responsibility, it helped make him more capable of surviving the brutality of nature.

From one home-owning Homo sapiens to another, I'll tell you: radiator heat, central air conditioning and stainless-steel appliances help a whole lot, too.

Tanika.white@baltsun.com

Looking back at this column, I am reminded once again that children change everything. People tell you that before you have kids, and you think you understand. But if you don't have kids, you cannot possibly understand. Not even a little bit.

Children change everything. And although I am still grateful to God that my babies are blessed to live in a warm, safe place, it is still time for a change.