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!

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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. 

Rethinking Home Ownership

Lately, I have been having a home ownership crisis.

Here are the (many) issues with my house:

• It is worth two pennies: I bought a house in Baltimore City at the top of the housing bubble. I didn't know at the time that it was the top of the housing bubble, but I found out pretty quickly that it was the tippy-tippy-top. Five years later, which is the timeframe I told myself I'd be looking to sell and move on, the house is worth $40,000 less than I paid for it. And that's being generous. Some estimates put it at $50-$60,000 less. But I try not to linger too long at those estimates, for fear of breaking out in hives.

• It is in a crappy neighborhood: When I moved, I bought in a neighborhood that was squarely in the city, so near a busy, bedraggled street with lots of liquor stores and carry-outs. But it was also very near a huge, green park, a city golf course and a man-made lake. I thought to myself, "This neighborhood has such great amenities. It is either on its way up or its way down." Now I know, based on the plummeting home values (see the first bullet) that it is on its way to hell, apparently.

And it's not just the home values. The neighborhood is just not ideal. It's safe, which is good, and still relatively nice-looking, with (mostly) well-kept homes. But consider just one 13-hour period, from last night to this morning:  A neighbor was sitting on the porch smoking cigarettes around 6 p.m., prompting me to have to close the windows in the living room, despite the fact that our air conditioner died on Sunday (more on that later). Teenagers were lighting loud fireworks around 9 p.m., when I was putting Clair to sleep, prompting me to call the police non-emergency-number [yes, I am that neighbor]. There were people arguing loudly on my street last night around 2 a.m., which woke me up. And around 7:15 a.m., a neighbor came home from his night job, pulled up in front of his house, and proceeded to sit there in his car, dozing, with his radio BLASTING.  God only knows why. This does not even begin to get into the trash that blows from the end of the street and settles in front of my front steps each day. Or the teenagers who hang out at the top of the block, scowling. Or the stinky alley with the incessantly-barking dogs. Or the lack of any good retail establishments, aside from the bookstore/cafe' where I take the boys from time to time.Or a public school where I would venture to send even my worst enemy's kid.

• It is too small: I had no way of knowing when I bought the house as a single woman that I would be married the same year (well, I knew I'd be married to Lester, but not that same year) and that just a short time later, we'd have three children within the span of two years. But all those things happened. And so the 3-bedroom rowhouse that was perfect for just me and him is now, in every way, too small. I fantasize about closets, a family room, a kitchen we can eat in, storage space, a bathroom just for us (not littered with toys), an office and a real backyard for the kids to play in. My kingdom for a 1st-floor powder room, oh gods of house-buying. My soul for a walk-in closet.

• It is old: I really liked the charm of the 1950s rowhouse when I bought it: The archways on the first level, the wood floors, the old-fashioned bathroom tiles, the chandelier in the dining room. But now, I'm paying for all that charm with the upkeep and maintenance that comes with owning an older home. So many small things are breaking, broken or falling apart I can't even list them. The wood floors are no match for the children and their toys. The plumbing - OY! And just this week, the 40-year-old AC compressor conked out. Bit the big one. To the tune of thousands of dollars. Please note summer started just four days before. Of course.

Anyway, because of all these things, I have now decided that the snakeoil salesman who sold me the line that home ownership was an "investment," sold me a bill of goods. I will never again go into buying a house with the idea that I am buying an investment. I will warn my kids that there is no such thing as a starter home.

Instead of buying my little Baltimore rowhouse, thinking I'd sell it in  5 years, I should have waited until Lester and I were married, so we could pool our money and buy a bigger, better  home in a better neighborhood -- a home we could imagine living in with a gang of small children. A home with neighbors we liked, and schools that were excellent.  In other words, we should have gone into our first home thinking it could be our forever home.

This:

Or this!

Or even this:

Instead of this:

Me in 2007. This sign should say, "I am an idiot."

Oh well. Live and learn, right? That's what I keep telling myself.

That, and "buy a lottery ticket on your way home from work." (Now THERE's a surer investment. :-) )