I should have, perhaps, entitled today's blog entry either, "The Home Inspection from Hell," or, "Your House Knows You're Abandoning It." I wish I was joking.
Three days ago, our buyer had her home inspection. From that point on, pretty much everything went to hooey.
First of all, the buyer, her realtor, the inspector, and others who I am not entirely certain who they were or why they were there all showed up an hour early without any sort of notice. Her realtor, if no one else, carried with him a cell phone with our realtor's cell number available to him. When I called our realtor in a panic, since the girls had just finished their lunches and I still had a few chores left to accomplish before leaving with them, our realtor was just as surprised as I was. I left the house in the responsibility of the buyer's realtor while my realtor did what he could to get someone from our team over there.
I should point out that our realtor was the one who did not want us there. He said there were too many times where he has seen the seller get bamboozled by the buyer and home inspector if the seller was actually present. Why agree to things because you can't handle saying no in person? That's what lawyers are for. Leave the naysaying to them. The fact that the buyer's realtor wanted me to stay also made me feel the need to leave. He gave me the impression that he would make slick used-car salesmen look like they are all on the up-and-up.
I probably should have stayed. Upon my return, I discovered my microwave (which is not involved in the sale) had been used and the time set. We never set the time on that thing, and the clocks we have around the house are all set fast to help my husband get to the train on time. They set the microwave to the correct time instead. They broke our indoor-outdoor digital thermometer (also not part of the sale), which we were thankfully able to finally fix after exchanging all of the batteries and letting it completely reset. They shut off our basement dehumidifier (once more, not part of the sale). They messed around in the back of the toilet tank so it did not flush properly (Okay, fine. The toilet technically comes with the house. But why mess around with its innards?). It took me two days to figure out the problem and correct it. But the worst was yet to come.
Yesterday, we received a copy of the letter our buyer's attorney sent to our attorney. In it, we were told she had some demands to make before any of us even received the written inspection report. One of the things sounded as if she was going to demand a termite treatment based on the claim that they found an old mud tunnel in our detached garage. First of all, we get termite inspections yearly, and nothing has ever been spotted. We do use a pest control service to receive quarterly spraying to try and prevent creepy crawlies from entering our house, but we never had to treat for termites. Secondly, an old mud tunnel might have been there for decades, even since before we bought the house. It does not imply any termites are currently in residence. Thirdly, I called our pest control service immediately, and they sent someone out to investigate. No evidence of past or present termites was discovered, including any mud tunnels. Regardless, since this was something we are sure they put in the inspection report, we have to have the property treated because the mortgage company will demand it even if the buyer does not. That's over fifteen hundred bucks right there.
While I was outside talking with the termite guy, I decided to take a look at our back porch, or what we call our Florida room. The buyer's attorney had claimed there were active carpenter ants and water damage that needed to be addressed. Well, we already had the pest control plan, so it was easy to just place a call and schedule a treatment day. However, we were baffled by the claims of water damage, so I went to look around our Florida room to see if I could spot anything or if we would have to wait for the official report. Boy, could I see it!
It turns out that someone for the buyer, whether it was the home inspection person or their bug guy, had pried up these metal siding slats at the bottom of the Florida room. They physically pried the siding away from the exterior of our house and left it pulled out like that. They even bent one of the pieces, so it is not likely to ever look normal again. Sure, we can now see how there is rotted wood there, which we did not know about previously, but they took away just about every option we had towards getting it fixed.
If they had simply knocked on the siding and said it sounded hollow so they suspected water damage, or bug damage, or whatever, then we could have just told the buyer we'd give her a credit of some monetary amount and it would be her problem. She could decide to back out of the deal if that didn't work for her, but at least we would not have three of the four sides of our back porch now exposed to the elements. We now have to get it fixed before it rains. Not only that, but because of the location and the damage the company did, it is likely to be a much larger problem and cost more to fix than it would have before they ripped everything open. For example, I honestly cannot see any water damage down one of the three sides they opened up, and it is only minimal damage on the second side, yet we now have to fix all three sides, which is likely to require a complete overhaul of our Florida room.
The rest of the house, upon hearing me on the phone all afternoon with our realtor, the inspection company, and their bug guy, suddenly realized what this all meant. We are trying to abandon it, at least in its inanimate mind. It got back at us. Our less than three-year-old bathroom fan just up and died. I suppose it's possible the home inspection people messed around with it, too, but we have no proof of that as nothing is noticeably out of place like we have with the glaring gaps around our Florida room's border.
Oh, and our buyer also wants a new hot water heater and the right to add whatever else she wants to add upon receipt of her written inspection report.
I'm about ready to tell her she can take a flying leap and hope I can make this all up to my house before it completely goes kablooey on me.
Friday, August 24, 2012
Monday, August 20, 2012
Adventures in House-Selling, Part V
We made it through attorney review on the selling end of this deal. Next up is getting our house inspected, then haggling through lawyers over whatever nitpicky items crop up during inspection. Rather than waiting around to see whether the inspection will give us poor results and have the buyer run screaming away from us, we have chosen to spend our time pouring over online searches to try and find our ideal house to purchase.
Just a few months ago, there were a zillion houses out there in the school district we are aiming to enter. We even had a choice of towns in which to reside for that regional district. There were simply oodles of houses. Now, the only ones left online are either poorly maintained with or without major structural damage, located right next to something awful, pulled off the market despite still showing up online, or are suddenly under contract the day after we ask to see them in real life. Seriously?
Okay, fine. We decided to broaden our search to other excellent school districts that are still within a reasonable commuting distance for Pig. It seems that every day that passes, I am texting our realtor with instructions to look out for houses in an additional town, generally in the completely opposite direction of the town I requested just one day prior.
Our first day of actually going to a few houses to check them out was quite informative. I figure a few more of these visits and I will be able to speak fluent Realtor. Here is what I have been able to figure out thus far:
"Lovingly maintained home" implies "Still has the original two-prong electrical outlets installed somewhere in the 1950s, although owners may have sprung for an upgrade to 150 amp service within the past decade." It could also mean, "The roof has been patched so many times it looks like thatch up there." Expect to see a heck of a lot of wallpaper that has been clearly re-pasted a number of times, twenty or more coats of paint on the walls, and a furnace that is older than you are.
"Newly renovated [insert room name here]" can be translated directly into one of two things. Either it means, "We knew there was no bloody way you would ever look twice at our house if we still had the original circa 1920s stove in the kitchen, so we did the bare minimum necessary to make you think you were getting something spiffy," or it implies, "Of course we had to renovate. That's what happens when you get flooded and your house is declared a federal disaster area." Clearly there are exceptions to the rule, such as our own house, which has a "recently renovated bathroom." (Our translation was, "You mean you'd rather we kept the awful 1950s pink tiles and the leaky tub? We didn't want to deal with that for us even if you don't buy our house!")
"Spacious eat-in kitchen" means you will have plenty of space just as long as your table is one of those TV trays.
"Quick closing" is one for which to watch out. It might mean that the seller has already relocated to somewhere else. It could also imply they do not want you to think too long and are hoping you'll just buy quickly and then spent the next twenty years repenting in leisure.
"Seller is offering [insert company name here] Home Warranty" should, in theory, serve to reassure the buyer that if anything major goes kablooey during the first year of home ownership, they shall be covered. In reality, those warranty companies pay very little money towards actually fixing problems that might arise, and, in fact, often exclude a number of things the buyer assumes should be covered. "Oh, I know the foundation appears cracked, but with that warranty, we'll be fine!" "Oh, wait. What do you mean they do not cover pre-existing conditions, and even if it wasn't pre-existing, they'd only pay us a thousand bucks on a job that will cost at least ten times that?"
"Huge [insert house-type here]" is a direct translation for, "Will cost you a zillion more dollars to fix up anything you want to fix as opposed to if you were doing similar work on a more reasonably-sized house." Any type of size description also implies the relative cost of your heating and cooling bills. A "cozy" house will be cheaper to keep comfortable than a "nicely-sized" or "surprisingly large" house would, and will be infinitely cheaper than anything that calls itself "huge."
"Owner is extremely motivated to sell" is another tricky one. It could imply the house is part of a divorce case and the owner is willing to drop the price quickly to screw over the soon-to-be ex. It could mean the owner is desperate to get out before the dang house floods again or the next tornado comes through town. It could also imply the owner overextended him- or herself and already purchased their dream home before selling the house you are admiring and losing their job and getting stuck trying to pay two mortgages while rapidly depleting what is left of their savings. It can be extremely good for the buyer, or absolutely horrible. I will need to look at a few more houses to be able to get a better grasp on that Realtor-speak.
My personal favorite Realtor phrases to interpret are ones pertaining to special features on or nearby the house's location. "Stream runs through the property" means both that you will likely flood at some point and that your neighbor's discarded trash will wind its way over to you. "Pond on the property" can be directly translated into, "Expect mosquitoes large enough to drive their own cars." "Right next-door to a horse farm," lets you know you certainly do not want to be downwind on a hot summer day! (It also informs you your ten-year-old daughter would be pleased as punch for you to purchase that house, since she desperately loves horses. Or maybe that's just my daughter.) "Property is located in a flood zone" lets you know that you should expect to have to do some renovations yourself at some point in the future, most likely immediately after you discover your priceless family photo albums have all been thoroughly saturated.
See how much fun it is to learn how to speak Realtor? At least it keeps my mind off of our impending home inspection! (Wish us luck. It is to be held tomorrow. While we do not expect to hear anything major is wrong with our house, we have no desire to be nickeled and dimed to death over stupid little things. Well, or big things either. But I'm not replacing the lovingly maintained boiler that is older than I am. It still works, dang it.)
Just a few months ago, there were a zillion houses out there in the school district we are aiming to enter. We even had a choice of towns in which to reside for that regional district. There were simply oodles of houses. Now, the only ones left online are either poorly maintained with or without major structural damage, located right next to something awful, pulled off the market despite still showing up online, or are suddenly under contract the day after we ask to see them in real life. Seriously?
Okay, fine. We decided to broaden our search to other excellent school districts that are still within a reasonable commuting distance for Pig. It seems that every day that passes, I am texting our realtor with instructions to look out for houses in an additional town, generally in the completely opposite direction of the town I requested just one day prior.
Our first day of actually going to a few houses to check them out was quite informative. I figure a few more of these visits and I will be able to speak fluent Realtor. Here is what I have been able to figure out thus far:
"Lovingly maintained home" implies "Still has the original two-prong electrical outlets installed somewhere in the 1950s, although owners may have sprung for an upgrade to 150 amp service within the past decade." It could also mean, "The roof has been patched so many times it looks like thatch up there." Expect to see a heck of a lot of wallpaper that has been clearly re-pasted a number of times, twenty or more coats of paint on the walls, and a furnace that is older than you are.
"Newly renovated [insert room name here]" can be translated directly into one of two things. Either it means, "We knew there was no bloody way you would ever look twice at our house if we still had the original circa 1920s stove in the kitchen, so we did the bare minimum necessary to make you think you were getting something spiffy," or it implies, "Of course we had to renovate. That's what happens when you get flooded and your house is declared a federal disaster area." Clearly there are exceptions to the rule, such as our own house, which has a "recently renovated bathroom." (Our translation was, "You mean you'd rather we kept the awful 1950s pink tiles and the leaky tub? We didn't want to deal with that for us even if you don't buy our house!")
"Spacious eat-in kitchen" means you will have plenty of space just as long as your table is one of those TV trays.
"Quick closing" is one for which to watch out. It might mean that the seller has already relocated to somewhere else. It could also imply they do not want you to think too long and are hoping you'll just buy quickly and then spent the next twenty years repenting in leisure.
"Seller is offering [insert company name here] Home Warranty" should, in theory, serve to reassure the buyer that if anything major goes kablooey during the first year of home ownership, they shall be covered. In reality, those warranty companies pay very little money towards actually fixing problems that might arise, and, in fact, often exclude a number of things the buyer assumes should be covered. "Oh, I know the foundation appears cracked, but with that warranty, we'll be fine!" "Oh, wait. What do you mean they do not cover pre-existing conditions, and even if it wasn't pre-existing, they'd only pay us a thousand bucks on a job that will cost at least ten times that?"
"Huge [insert house-type here]" is a direct translation for, "Will cost you a zillion more dollars to fix up anything you want to fix as opposed to if you were doing similar work on a more reasonably-sized house." Any type of size description also implies the relative cost of your heating and cooling bills. A "cozy" house will be cheaper to keep comfortable than a "nicely-sized" or "surprisingly large" house would, and will be infinitely cheaper than anything that calls itself "huge."
"Owner is extremely motivated to sell" is another tricky one. It could imply the house is part of a divorce case and the owner is willing to drop the price quickly to screw over the soon-to-be ex. It could mean the owner is desperate to get out before the dang house floods again or the next tornado comes through town. It could also imply the owner overextended him- or herself and already purchased their dream home before selling the house you are admiring and losing their job and getting stuck trying to pay two mortgages while rapidly depleting what is left of their savings. It can be extremely good for the buyer, or absolutely horrible. I will need to look at a few more houses to be able to get a better grasp on that Realtor-speak.
My personal favorite Realtor phrases to interpret are ones pertaining to special features on or nearby the house's location. "Stream runs through the property" means both that you will likely flood at some point and that your neighbor's discarded trash will wind its way over to you. "Pond on the property" can be directly translated into, "Expect mosquitoes large enough to drive their own cars." "Right next-door to a horse farm," lets you know you certainly do not want to be downwind on a hot summer day! (It also informs you your ten-year-old daughter would be pleased as punch for you to purchase that house, since she desperately loves horses. Or maybe that's just my daughter.) "Property is located in a flood zone" lets you know that you should expect to have to do some renovations yourself at some point in the future, most likely immediately after you discover your priceless family photo albums have all been thoroughly saturated.
See how much fun it is to learn how to speak Realtor? At least it keeps my mind off of our impending home inspection! (Wish us luck. It is to be held tomorrow. While we do not expect to hear anything major is wrong with our house, we have no desire to be nickeled and dimed to death over stupid little things. Well, or big things either. But I'm not replacing the lovingly maintained boiler that is older than I am. It still works, dang it.)
Saturday, August 11, 2012
A diagnosis of autism...
"Pig Jr. does not make eye contact the same way regular children do. He will attempt to answer your questions sometimes while completely facing the other direction. This is not normal." "What is it like to try and have a conversation with him? He does not really know how to do the usual back-and-forth it takes to carry on a conversation. That is not normal.""He's a toe-walker? That's also one of the signs." "The way his voice goes up and down in a sing-songy manner when he is talking is not normal." "He seems to do repetitive play. Does he line things up or do the same thing over and over the way he is doing now with the erasers I gave him to play with? That's not normal." "Does he ever react if someone is upset or cries? Not really? That's not normal."
I swear, if I heard my son or something he does was "not normal" one more time, I was going to scream.
Just a few minutes before this discussion, Pig and I had been talking privately about our concern that this doctor will tell us our son is fine and that we are just being worrywarts. His old neurodevelopmental pediatrician had told us he barely qualified for a diagnosis of PDD-NOS, and it seemed to us that he had improved in a number of areas over the two years since then. We honestly wondered what we were going to do to convince the school he still needed to be under the supervision of the special services department if that diagnosis disappeared.
When this new doctor casually mentioned our son was "on the spectrum," I asked for clarification, since we had been told for years now that Pig Jr. was not autistic although he has some characteristics of autism. "On the spectrum" means "autistic," doesn't it?
Apparently, the standards are changing and our son's old diagnosis of PDD-NOS (feel free to google it if you're bored or curious) will be going the way of the dodo bird. He is now officially diagnosed with autism. He will be put on a registry for children with autism. Big brother will be watching our little boy. The doctor even recommended getting some genetic testing done to see why he is the way he is.
The worst part was that this neurodevelopmentalist told us she did not have a copy of the new standards, but showed us a list of the old ones. She said a child only needed a couple of characteristics to qualify. He had far more than that. Our little boy probably should have been diagnosed with autism two years ago at his first evaluation.
Granted, Pig Jr. is very high functioning. He is also highly intelligent. Ultimately, we do not care if his diagnosis is called "cow manure" as long as it means he will get the services he needs for speech, OT, and socialization. (Please, doctors, don't change the name to "cow manure"! I was being snarky.) Unfortunately, many people hear the word "autism" and think of the extremely severe cases. That is not our son. There is still very much a stigma attached to this diagnosis, despite the fact that many people live pretty normal lives with it.
A diagnosis of autism will ultimately help Pig Jr. receive services. Our insurance will supposedly have to pay for them now. I will have to look into what, if anything, his school will now need to do to ensure he receives a proper education.
I just wish they would stop saying what he does is not normal. It's normal for him.
I swear, if I heard my son or something he does was "not normal" one more time, I was going to scream.
Just a few minutes before this discussion, Pig and I had been talking privately about our concern that this doctor will tell us our son is fine and that we are just being worrywarts. His old neurodevelopmental pediatrician had told us he barely qualified for a diagnosis of PDD-NOS, and it seemed to us that he had improved in a number of areas over the two years since then. We honestly wondered what we were going to do to convince the school he still needed to be under the supervision of the special services department if that diagnosis disappeared.
When this new doctor casually mentioned our son was "on the spectrum," I asked for clarification, since we had been told for years now that Pig Jr. was not autistic although he has some characteristics of autism. "On the spectrum" means "autistic," doesn't it?
Apparently, the standards are changing and our son's old diagnosis of PDD-NOS (feel free to google it if you're bored or curious) will be going the way of the dodo bird. He is now officially diagnosed with autism. He will be put on a registry for children with autism. Big brother will be watching our little boy. The doctor even recommended getting some genetic testing done to see why he is the way he is.
The worst part was that this neurodevelopmentalist told us she did not have a copy of the new standards, but showed us a list of the old ones. She said a child only needed a couple of characteristics to qualify. He had far more than that. Our little boy probably should have been diagnosed with autism two years ago at his first evaluation.
Granted, Pig Jr. is very high functioning. He is also highly intelligent. Ultimately, we do not care if his diagnosis is called "cow manure" as long as it means he will get the services he needs for speech, OT, and socialization. (Please, doctors, don't change the name to "cow manure"! I was being snarky.) Unfortunately, many people hear the word "autism" and think of the extremely severe cases. That is not our son. There is still very much a stigma attached to this diagnosis, despite the fact that many people live pretty normal lives with it.
A diagnosis of autism will ultimately help Pig Jr. receive services. Our insurance will supposedly have to pay for them now. I will have to look into what, if anything, his school will now need to do to ensure he receives a proper education.
I just wish they would stop saying what he does is not normal. It's normal for him.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Adventures in House-Selling, part IV.
For the first time in my life, I am actually grateful that we have an attorney on our side. Selling a house is such a stressful situation, and I cannot fathom why people would ever voluntarily do this more than once. Oh, I know there are reasons people have to move or sell their houses. I used to think buying a house was stressful. Now I know better. The selling part is far worse, in my opinion.
Anyway, the first of a long series of stresses over selling a house, once you have the initial contract, is the attorney review period. To the best of my knowledge, this is when two or more attorneys try to one-up each other in changing how things are worded in the contract between buyer and seller. They take a fairly standard contract and tweak it until it matches how they think it should look. The attorneys send letters back and forth, and discuss each other's messages with their clients, who are likely both panicking at their respective locations.
Today, my attorney went over the revisions the other attorney wanted to see placed into the contract. Part of the discussion went as follows:
Mr. Law: "Take a look at number five there. That shouldn't be a problem."
Me: "Uh...if you say so. I'm not even sure what it means."
Mr. Law: "It means [insert unintelligible explanation of sorts]. Then number six was already addressed by my number eleven sent out yesterday."
Me: [frantically flipping through papers until I find the referenced number eleven]
Mr. Law: "Then we need to change the wording on how number eight reads to [insert elite-sounding babble]."
Me: "But what happened to number seven?"
Mr. Law: "Oh, that shouldn't be a problem. It states that [insert even more elite-sounding babble]."
The end result was that I smiled, nodded, and agreed to whatever revisions my attorney said he wanted to write. I figure we are paying him for his knowledge of this sort of thing, so we have to trust him to some extent. This, however, is not why I am glad we are paying him for his services.
Towards the end of the conversation, he asked me if I had any questions. Given that my eyes had glazed over and I probably could not have stated my own name if asked, I could not formulate anything even remotely intelligent. Instead, I blurted out, "When is it time to panic?"
Mr. Law babbled about how straightforward this really is, and how we just take this one step at a time so there is no need to panic. I rephrased the question. "I have three children who have to start school in less than a month. I have no idea where we are moving and I do not want to sign a year lease on something if there is the potential this closing will not go through. Now, you're saying that everything might not be all ready until almost the end of September for an end-of-September closing. What the heck am I supposed to do to prepare for this sale when there are so many things that might cause this deal to not happen?"
There was a pause. Then, Mr. Law suggested adding a stipulation of some sort to the closing date. The basic gist is that our closing will now be no later than the previously suggested closing date, or thirty days after all contingencies are met, whichever is later. In other words, once the inspection, assessment, mortgage, and all that other stuff gets resolved, then our closing date will be at least thirty days from then. In theory, a month is enough time to find another place to live, make the arrangements, pack, move, and clean the house for closing. We shall have all of our ducks in a row to ensure we do not get stuck paying a year's rent somewhere while also handling our mortgage, if something stops this sale.
I am very grateful for Mr. Law's suggestion, and I am able to breathe a little more easily now that I do not have to immediately find another place to live without knowing if, for example, our buyer's mortgage company will agree that our house is worth our contractually agreed-upon price.
Now we just have to wait and see what else happens during the attorney review process to see whether or not we will have a finalized contract during this lifetime.
Anyway, the first of a long series of stresses over selling a house, once you have the initial contract, is the attorney review period. To the best of my knowledge, this is when two or more attorneys try to one-up each other in changing how things are worded in the contract between buyer and seller. They take a fairly standard contract and tweak it until it matches how they think it should look. The attorneys send letters back and forth, and discuss each other's messages with their clients, who are likely both panicking at their respective locations.
Today, my attorney went over the revisions the other attorney wanted to see placed into the contract. Part of the discussion went as follows:
Mr. Law: "Take a look at number five there. That shouldn't be a problem."
Me: "Uh...if you say so. I'm not even sure what it means."
Mr. Law: "It means [insert unintelligible explanation of sorts]. Then number six was already addressed by my number eleven sent out yesterday."
Me: [frantically flipping through papers until I find the referenced number eleven]
Mr. Law: "Then we need to change the wording on how number eight reads to [insert elite-sounding babble]."
Me: "But what happened to number seven?"
Mr. Law: "Oh, that shouldn't be a problem. It states that [insert even more elite-sounding babble]."
The end result was that I smiled, nodded, and agreed to whatever revisions my attorney said he wanted to write. I figure we are paying him for his knowledge of this sort of thing, so we have to trust him to some extent. This, however, is not why I am glad we are paying him for his services.
Towards the end of the conversation, he asked me if I had any questions. Given that my eyes had glazed over and I probably could not have stated my own name if asked, I could not formulate anything even remotely intelligent. Instead, I blurted out, "When is it time to panic?"
Mr. Law babbled about how straightforward this really is, and how we just take this one step at a time so there is no need to panic. I rephrased the question. "I have three children who have to start school in less than a month. I have no idea where we are moving and I do not want to sign a year lease on something if there is the potential this closing will not go through. Now, you're saying that everything might not be all ready until almost the end of September for an end-of-September closing. What the heck am I supposed to do to prepare for this sale when there are so many things that might cause this deal to not happen?"
There was a pause. Then, Mr. Law suggested adding a stipulation of some sort to the closing date. The basic gist is that our closing will now be no later than the previously suggested closing date, or thirty days after all contingencies are met, whichever is later. In other words, once the inspection, assessment, mortgage, and all that other stuff gets resolved, then our closing date will be at least thirty days from then. In theory, a month is enough time to find another place to live, make the arrangements, pack, move, and clean the house for closing. We shall have all of our ducks in a row to ensure we do not get stuck paying a year's rent somewhere while also handling our mortgage, if something stops this sale.
I am very grateful for Mr. Law's suggestion, and I am able to breathe a little more easily now that I do not have to immediately find another place to live without knowing if, for example, our buyer's mortgage company will agree that our house is worth our contractually agreed-upon price.
Now we just have to wait and see what else happens during the attorney review process to see whether or not we will have a finalized contract during this lifetime.
Monday, August 6, 2012
Adventures in House-Selling, part. III.
I'm fairly certain my gravestone will read, "Death by laid-back attorney," because I swear that guy is going to kill me.
On August 2, 2012, the day after we signed our half of the contract that states we are willing to sell our house to a particular buyer for a certain cost and closing date, I first contacted an attorney. After all, we needed someone to handle all of the legal aspects of the sale, and the first step in that regard is to enter an attorney review period. In theory, that is three business days where attorneys start representing both the buyer and the seller debate the finer points of the contract. In other words, they both reject it as written and make their own requirements as to how things should read. This could take weeks. In theory, that should be fairly straightforward. In fact, our attorney told me he would send out an email to me that very afternoon, regarding whatever he needed to put in writing at that time.
Can you hear the crickets chirping and the tumbleweeds blowing while absolutely nothing happened?
Over the weekend, I texted our realtor to ask if everything was going as intended, since we had heard nothing about what was taking place between attorneys. I received a response that this was common, and the attorneys are going back and forth and doing what they need to do. In other words, calm down. Things are progressing even if you don't see it happening. Okay, I'll just sit here and take deep, cleansing breaths while trying not to worry.
This morning, I decided to go ahead and give our attorney a call, just to make sure. I figured I could chalk it up to never having sold a house before, so I honestly did not know what to expect. Our attorney basically read back the notes from when I talked to him four days ago and informed me he still did not know who the other attorney was. Nothing had been discussed between attorneys.
We are no closer to ending our nerve-wracking attorney review period than we were last week. The only thing getting me through this weekend was the thought that our three business days would be up on Monday, so at least we would be through that particular hurdle. Now we find out that it still technically has not started, since only our half of the contract is legally represented.
I get that an attorney has a bunch of things on their plate at any given moment. I understand that selling our house is not a priority to any of them. However, it certainly is to us. I have about a month and a half to pack up, clean house, find a place to move, actually move, do one final cleaning, then have our closing on or before September 28, 2012, and we do not even have a finalized contract to motivate me to get up off my behind on this hot, muggy, summer day.
I guess it's a good thing I called him today then, eh? Oy. Keep your eyes peeled for that grave marker. I'll either be six feet under from stressing myself out over this laid-back approach, or he will have murdered me for calling him all the time to keep on top of what he is supposedly doing.
On August 2, 2012, the day after we signed our half of the contract that states we are willing to sell our house to a particular buyer for a certain cost and closing date, I first contacted an attorney. After all, we needed someone to handle all of the legal aspects of the sale, and the first step in that regard is to enter an attorney review period. In theory, that is three business days where attorneys start representing both the buyer and the seller debate the finer points of the contract. In other words, they both reject it as written and make their own requirements as to how things should read. This could take weeks. In theory, that should be fairly straightforward. In fact, our attorney told me he would send out an email to me that very afternoon, regarding whatever he needed to put in writing at that time.
Can you hear the crickets chirping and the tumbleweeds blowing while absolutely nothing happened?
Over the weekend, I texted our realtor to ask if everything was going as intended, since we had heard nothing about what was taking place between attorneys. I received a response that this was common, and the attorneys are going back and forth and doing what they need to do. In other words, calm down. Things are progressing even if you don't see it happening. Okay, I'll just sit here and take deep, cleansing breaths while trying not to worry.
This morning, I decided to go ahead and give our attorney a call, just to make sure. I figured I could chalk it up to never having sold a house before, so I honestly did not know what to expect. Our attorney basically read back the notes from when I talked to him four days ago and informed me he still did not know who the other attorney was. Nothing had been discussed between attorneys.
We are no closer to ending our nerve-wracking attorney review period than we were last week. The only thing getting me through this weekend was the thought that our three business days would be up on Monday, so at least we would be through that particular hurdle. Now we find out that it still technically has not started, since only our half of the contract is legally represented.
I get that an attorney has a bunch of things on their plate at any given moment. I understand that selling our house is not a priority to any of them. However, it certainly is to us. I have about a month and a half to pack up, clean house, find a place to move, actually move, do one final cleaning, then have our closing on or before September 28, 2012, and we do not even have a finalized contract to motivate me to get up off my behind on this hot, muggy, summer day.
I guess it's a good thing I called him today then, eh? Oy. Keep your eyes peeled for that grave marker. I'll either be six feet under from stressing myself out over this laid-back approach, or he will have murdered me for calling him all the time to keep on top of what he is supposedly doing.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Adventures in House-Selling, part II.
For those of you who can't care less about how all I want to blather about these days is pertaining to the sale of our house, you can't say you haven't been warned. Today's house-sale-related blog entry is really just for me, so I can write down how my dream timeline looks at the moment. Note the words, "at the moment." My dream is likely to change from second to second, let alone from day to day.
First, our buyer sticks around and still wants to buy our house after our attorney review period ends. Then she is even more happy to still have a contract after the house is inspected. We find the perfect rental house (already searched and ogled online) in our current town and find the perfect house to buy (lusting after a particular house online) a few months after we close. We get pre-approved for a mortgage with a great rate that will be effective once our current mortgage is wiped out with the sale of our house. So far, that sounds good in theory. It's a great market to buy!
The house we adore will have an owner who is willing to accept our (low) bid and our contingency that we have to close on our current house first. We will move into our rental place before the start of the school year so that all of the zillions of forms the school sends home on the first couple of days of school (times three for our kidlets) can have our new, temporary address listed instead of having to list our current house and then re-fill out everything a week or two later should we wind up moving after school starts. Okay, so that's not overly unrealistic so far. A lease could easily start September first, before school does.
Next, we close on our current house. The buyer does indeed buy our house, and we weep with glee for being out of debt for the first time in a decade. Then we notify the people who own our dream house, and promptly finalize that mortgage so we'll be back in debt once more. We arrange a closing date sometime before the end of November, and all goes smoothly with our own inspections and whatnot.
During as much of November and December as I can manage, I start moving things from our rental house to the new house, paint what I can (possibly delay that until spring if it's too cold to open up windows for ventilation), and set up the Christmas tree in our new home. The kidlets continue to attend school in the district where we are renting until the last week school is in session in December. We possibly pull them out a day or two early so we can pay someone else to move all the heavy stuff from the rental property into our dream home, and we officially move in just before Christmas. The kidlets can settle in to their new lives for a week or more, and start their new schools the first week back in January.
Finally, our rental property can be officially vacated, as we had set up a four-month lease (or a month-to-month situation to get us through the end of December) and we will no longer have to pay both rent and a mortgage.
That is my dream. There are no unexpected worries, no getting stuck without being able to sell our current house, no major problems with any house inspections, and no mortgage companies being less than thrilled that we want to use their services. I have no idea how realistic this dream is, but at least it gives me something for which to hope. Let's see how close to reality it truly is...
First, our buyer sticks around and still wants to buy our house after our attorney review period ends. Then she is even more happy to still have a contract after the house is inspected. We find the perfect rental house (already searched and ogled online) in our current town and find the perfect house to buy (lusting after a particular house online) a few months after we close. We get pre-approved for a mortgage with a great rate that will be effective once our current mortgage is wiped out with the sale of our house. So far, that sounds good in theory. It's a great market to buy!
The house we adore will have an owner who is willing to accept our (low) bid and our contingency that we have to close on our current house first. We will move into our rental place before the start of the school year so that all of the zillions of forms the school sends home on the first couple of days of school (times three for our kidlets) can have our new, temporary address listed instead of having to list our current house and then re-fill out everything a week or two later should we wind up moving after school starts. Okay, so that's not overly unrealistic so far. A lease could easily start September first, before school does.
Next, we close on our current house. The buyer does indeed buy our house, and we weep with glee for being out of debt for the first time in a decade. Then we notify the people who own our dream house, and promptly finalize that mortgage so we'll be back in debt once more. We arrange a closing date sometime before the end of November, and all goes smoothly with our own inspections and whatnot.
During as much of November and December as I can manage, I start moving things from our rental house to the new house, paint what I can (possibly delay that until spring if it's too cold to open up windows for ventilation), and set up the Christmas tree in our new home. The kidlets continue to attend school in the district where we are renting until the last week school is in session in December. We possibly pull them out a day or two early so we can pay someone else to move all the heavy stuff from the rental property into our dream home, and we officially move in just before Christmas. The kidlets can settle in to their new lives for a week or more, and start their new schools the first week back in January.
Finally, our rental property can be officially vacated, as we had set up a four-month lease (or a month-to-month situation to get us through the end of December) and we will no longer have to pay both rent and a mortgage.
That is my dream. There are no unexpected worries, no getting stuck without being able to sell our current house, no major problems with any house inspections, and no mortgage companies being less than thrilled that we want to use their services. I have no idea how realistic this dream is, but at least it gives me something for which to hope. Let's see how close to reality it truly is...
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Adventures in House-Selling, part I.
Well, we have officially accepted an offer on our house and have entered our attorney review period. To the best of my knowledge, that means we get to sit around and panic while not hearing from our attorney. Is he working with the other attorney? Have they made contract revisions? Did they flat-out reject the contract like our realtor said they would both do? We have no idea!
I suppose ignorance is bliss, but I never knew bliss would be so stressful.
In the meantime, we are in a wait-and-see mode. Our buyer has a lot of power right now, although we are hoping she is unaware of that fact. We have no plans to back out of this sale. She might get cold feet or worry about something that crops up between now and our closing date. However, we are unable to drop our price any further should the house inspection show something she did not know. If she is unaware that the sixty-ish year old boiler is so dang old, for example, then too bad. It still works and we have no intention of replacing it while it still works. So we are waiting to see what happens.
Our plans, right now, involve trying to get past attorney review and then our inspection before finding a place to rent here in town. This way, we are likely to know if the deal is going to go the way of the dodo bird, and even if we are blindsided after signing a lease, it's not as if we will be trying to swing two mortgage payments every month for an undetermined time.
Unfortunately, I did something I swore I would not do. I looked online at a house my husband has been keeping an eye on these past few months. Despite not even knowing whether our own deal with go through, I immediately started lusting after that house. I want it. It might be absolutely atrocious in real life. It might be sold before we have the chance to look at it. I have no idea.
The worst part is that even if our house sells as expected, we love the new house, and have an offer accepted by that seller, we will be stuck with around seven months of an overlap between a lease and a mortgage simply because I do not want the kidlets to switch school districts mid-year. My eldest is in her final year of elementary school. I do not want her to have to switch schools twice in a six-month period if we were to move mid-year. My middle kidlet has severe food allergies, and I do not want to have to bring her into an established classroom setting that might not work for her. I would prefer to figure out some sort of arrangement with the school over summer vacation. And then there's my youngest, who has an IEP that another district will still have to follow, but is more likely to have difficulties with any sort of transition. My kidlets have to come first. If we cannot afford to swing both lease and mortgage, then we shall just have to wait to buy.
In other words, I will be extremely grateful if and when our house closes. I am spending a lot of time praying that we have found the perfect buyer for our house and that the perfect house for us is out there somewhere. The kidlets, who do not want to move, are probably spending their time praying we stay put. This is going to be interesting.
I suppose ignorance is bliss, but I never knew bliss would be so stressful.
In the meantime, we are in a wait-and-see mode. Our buyer has a lot of power right now, although we are hoping she is unaware of that fact. We have no plans to back out of this sale. She might get cold feet or worry about something that crops up between now and our closing date. However, we are unable to drop our price any further should the house inspection show something she did not know. If she is unaware that the sixty-ish year old boiler is so dang old, for example, then too bad. It still works and we have no intention of replacing it while it still works. So we are waiting to see what happens.
Our plans, right now, involve trying to get past attorney review and then our inspection before finding a place to rent here in town. This way, we are likely to know if the deal is going to go the way of the dodo bird, and even if we are blindsided after signing a lease, it's not as if we will be trying to swing two mortgage payments every month for an undetermined time.
Unfortunately, I did something I swore I would not do. I looked online at a house my husband has been keeping an eye on these past few months. Despite not even knowing whether our own deal with go through, I immediately started lusting after that house. I want it. It might be absolutely atrocious in real life. It might be sold before we have the chance to look at it. I have no idea.
The worst part is that even if our house sells as expected, we love the new house, and have an offer accepted by that seller, we will be stuck with around seven months of an overlap between a lease and a mortgage simply because I do not want the kidlets to switch school districts mid-year. My eldest is in her final year of elementary school. I do not want her to have to switch schools twice in a six-month period if we were to move mid-year. My middle kidlet has severe food allergies, and I do not want to have to bring her into an established classroom setting that might not work for her. I would prefer to figure out some sort of arrangement with the school over summer vacation. And then there's my youngest, who has an IEP that another district will still have to follow, but is more likely to have difficulties with any sort of transition. My kidlets have to come first. If we cannot afford to swing both lease and mortgage, then we shall just have to wait to buy.
In other words, I will be extremely grateful if and when our house closes. I am spending a lot of time praying that we have found the perfect buyer for our house and that the perfect house for us is out there somewhere. The kidlets, who do not want to move, are probably spending their time praying we stay put. This is going to be interesting.
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