Closing the Door

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The last few days have been like white water rafting through some of the most intense emotions humans can have. It’s like being tripped by that mean kid in elementary school and then kicked in the stomach by a member of the women’s Olympic soccer team. We’ve gone from gleefully bickering over where we would put both Christmas trees to preparing our goodbyes to our dream home.

Here’s what happened:

When we put an offer on this house, the bank had an estimated assessment to do all the necessary repairs to get the house up to code. Once we found out we were in a multiple offer situation, we took a leap of faith and offered our max. Unfortunately, after having several city inspectors and contractors walk through the property, the bank estimate is nowhere close to what we were told. In fact, it’s a whopping $25,000 - $30,000 over the original estimate. 

What does this mean? It means we are most likely walking away from our house and a hefty “good faith” deposit that we can’t get back.  My mother keeps telling me that in the grand scheme of things, several thousand dollars is peanuts compared to $30,000, but it’s hard to swallow this when you’re abandoning something you love.

Yes, it’s just a house; some bricks, beams and drywall (that probably all had to be replaced, but that’s beside the point). But it was where we saw our future, the place we wanted to call home for the next 30 years. And that feeling just doesn’t come with every house you look at. It just doesn't.

Is there still hope? Sure, there’s always hope. And by golly, I hope that in a few days, I’m writing that a miracle happened and we are going to be The Williams on Westwood for a long, long time.

So I apologize if the last few posts have been total downers. But it wouldn’t be fair to gloss over, to Josh and I, nor to you.

Crossing my fingers and my toes (and everything inside that won’t cause permanent damage if I do) that things work out in the way I want them to. But if not, we’ll shed some more tears and eat Ben and Jerry’s. Lots of it.  

Lessons from Liu Xiang

During the first round of the 110m hurdles, Liu Xiang from China was one of the favorites to take home gold from London. After rupturing his Achilles tendon in 2004, this was likely Xiang's final shot at winning an Olympic event.

But as fate would have it, he mistimed his first hurdle and crashed into the ground, rupturing his old injury and putting him out of medal contention. At first he hopped off the track towards the tunnel, away from the crowd and, I'm sure, in an effort to conceal tears of disappointment. Athletes stumbling in the preliminary round is nothing new, so why did Xiang make headlines across the world?

Because he got up. He hobbled back onto the track and limped his way toward the finish line. He stopped to kiss the last hurdle, most likely his last gesture at an Olympic games. And he was carried the final few feet across the finish line by his competitors.

I'm telling myself this story because, we hit a hurdle today (two, actually). First, the cost of the city mandated repairs is actually double the original estimate, which will now take up our entire remodeling budget. And if that wasn't enough, our contractor called this morning and can no longer do the work on our house.

Ouch. Feels like we just crashed and burned and we barely made it out of the gate.

Not going to lie, this sucks. It's not easy to look at your dream house and start second guessing your decision, or worse, contemplate the idea of actually walking away from it. It's hard seeing your friends and family move into homes where the biggest setback was scrapping off wallpaper in the kitchen. It's also humbling to be reminded that this probably isn't the first hurdle we're going to hit, and the anticipation of future pain is a hard pill to swallow.

"What's next?" you ask? Thankfully, Josh is part of this equation because my gut reaction is to curl up in bed with ice cream and delete all those Pinterest ideas I've been collecting the past four weeks while whimpering loud enough for Josh to hear. He had a good sulk, and then made some phone calls to find us another contractor.

This is why I love my husband; because he doesn't focus on the hurdles, he focuses on the finish line.

So we're back in the race...

Welcome to the Jungle

In college, my mom bought me a small bamboo plant. She told me that I it would be good for me to care for something outside of myself and help it flourish. Bamboo, she said, is one of the heartiest plants on earth; able to withstand wind, little water and temperature variations. "Prove to me you can do this, sweetheart" she whispered.

It died two months later. (sorry mom). 


The point is, when it comes to plants, I'm able to kill just about anything. Plants have some kind of sixth sense when they come into my presence; it's like they know it's the end and completely give up on life. I've tried everything. I meticulously cut the stems off flowers Josh sends me, put that packet of food in the water and give them a sunny spot in our dining room. Within 48 hours, they are on life support, drooping like the white surrender flag.

So when we saw our beautiful house on Westwood Hills, I realized that my flora-destroying experiences up to this point were just practice; small exercises to prepare for the jungle that is our yard.

Because nobody has lived on the property since last November, the greenery has, well, made itself quite comfy. With plenty of sunlight, frequent rains in the spring and nobody to reign it in, the plantlife has completely taken over the house. This is where our front door is. There are actually beautiful windows into the living room but you can't see out them because of the shrubs.

Seriously. It's like somebody pumped steroids into the soil and told everybody to have a party. And boy did they ever.

 The planters in the front also went a little wild. Every time we stop by the house, our realtor and I take turns weeding this. Not that it does much good...

And then there is the ivy. Yes, it gives the house that beautiful English cottage look. In fact, my buddy Jason asked me point blank if we bought the house because it looks like something out of Harry Potter (this comment actually made my week. All I need now is an owl to deliver my mail and I could die happy).  Unfortunately, it all has to be ripped down. Immediately.

Ivy causes a whole host of problems (which, I didn't know until we bought the house).

1. Since it's plantlife, it holds water like a sponge against the house. 
2. It also plays hostess to a variety of cute insects like hornets, wasps and beetles. 
3. The little plant feet that attach it to the brick grow and start to rip the brick off the house. 

So as we visited the house this past weekend, I made a point to walk around the house and alert these photosynthesis loving organisms that they have met their match. I haven't met a plant yet that I wasn't able to swiftly destroy.

(Editors Note: we won't be killing ALL the plants- unless Ashley is in charge of the landscaping).