Sign Here, Please. And Here. Oh, and Here.
We've made it past the first great Panic Hurdle of the Aventure, and the owner of Bear's Retreat has accepted our offer. Now we get to panic about whether or not the bank will come through and agree to the pre-agreed loan it pre-agreed to. (After that, there will be panic about packing things up. Then, the oh-no-it's-garage-sale-day panic. Followed by the various stages of get-the-"old"-house-ready-to-sell panic. And the ongoing meet-the-payments panic. A long adrenaline fest, that what we've embarked on.)
But first we had to sign the agreement papers. They were legion, and had to get initialed each and every one while we stood around the island in the giant kitchen. But we were happy to meet the present owner of Bear's Retreat. She'd had the house on the market for three months, attracting NO buyers, had dropped the price drastically, and had the van packed up to move on out, the day we came to sign the agreement. And she's glad to be handing the property over to people who love it. Since it's in the middle of a sold-out and popular new development,* where the lots are tiny (as opposed to Bear's Retreat, which has 2 acres), and the houses are Really Expensive (more than Bear's Retreat, and they all have things like garages and whatever it is that's popular in houses today, as opposed to things that were popular in houses built in 1790 and 1840),and though the house is on the local historic registry, it's not nationally protected, it would be quite possible to purchase the site, raze the house, and build three new ones that sold for lots lots more than one had spent on the original historic property.
Well, we're not doing that. The house is safe with us. We may try to get it on the national registry, just so it's protected in future.
Last night the realtor dropped by with more papers to sign -- I forget what they were; I think it involved agreements not to allow the child to eat the lead paint, and not to sue the realtors if we discovered mold (I laughed at that; come to think of it, I've been laughing at a lot of the things I sign; this can't be good) -- and the child, who was in his pajamas already and about to go to bed, wanted to know if he could sign papers, too.
I explained to him that, though he is a valuable human being, and deserving of respect and serious consideration, and also very good at signing his name, his signature held no legal water cause 1) he's 8 years old and not considered to be of full rational capability and 2) he's got no money.
Now, I said, if you were a child star, that would be somewhat different; you'd have money. However, your dad would be your manager (not me, since I've got a full-time job professing), and we'd be the guardians of your money, and you still wouldn't get to sign anything, unless of course, you objected to how we were spending the money, in which case you could get a lawyer and fire us, and maybe even divorce us, but as it is, you've got no money to back up your signature, and even if you did, you'd still be 8. Alas. The things we're signing are all about money, I said. Even that part about the lead paint, really, cause though it purports to be about your health, it's really about Lawsuits.
I'm going to find out what he wants to agree to, though, cause I think we could very easily draw up an Agreement for us all to sign.
I expect he thinks we're agreeing to take care of the house and not turn it into a New Development From Hell. And maybe we're agreeing not to rip off the 1840 addition and build a geodesic dome. From Hell.
But what would he himself be agreeing to? Keeping the lego buildings out of the living room? I'd like that. Caring for the bunnies, the deer, the raccoons, the groundhogs? Fine by me, as long as they stay out of the garbage. Not playing with the fire in the fireplace and burning the house down? Excellent. Oh, and for sure, not eating the lead paint. That I'll have to insist on.
I'll have to find out what he wants to agree to, as I say.
He's excited about the house (we're supposed to close on June 30, if all goes well, just when I get back from England), and he's excited about the acres of land to play on, but he's worried about leaving the house he's lived in all his life so far, and he's concerned about the process of getting rid of unnecessary items (since he knows damn well his mother considers much of what he owns to be Useless Plastic Crap), and he's bothered about moving away from his neighborhood friends.
All of this displaces itself onto the cats. He's been having lots of conversations with me about how the cats are going to be scared when we're moving, but they'll be safe in their carriers first and the bathroom over at the "new" house later, and how it'll take the cats a while to get used to things but then they'll love the new house, and how they'll be happier if they get lots of pets and cuddles.
Right.
Sort of like the 8-year old human, I take it.
Though we'll let him out of the bathroom while we're moving.
As long as he agrees to stay away from the paint.
***************************
*If you go to the link, click on the little map. See that big ol' chunk, clearly missing from the sold-out development? That's Bear's Retreat.
But first we had to sign the agreement papers. They were legion, and had to get initialed each and every one while we stood around the island in the giant kitchen. But we were happy to meet the present owner of Bear's Retreat. She'd had the house on the market for three months, attracting NO buyers, had dropped the price drastically, and had the van packed up to move on out, the day we came to sign the agreement. And she's glad to be handing the property over to people who love it. Since it's in the middle of a sold-out and popular new development,* where the lots are tiny (as opposed to Bear's Retreat, which has 2 acres), and the houses are Really Expensive (more than Bear's Retreat, and they all have things like garages and whatever it is that's popular in houses today, as opposed to things that were popular in houses built in 1790 and 1840),and though the house is on the local historic registry, it's not nationally protected, it would be quite possible to purchase the site, raze the house, and build three new ones that sold for lots lots more than one had spent on the original historic property.
Well, we're not doing that. The house is safe with us. We may try to get it on the national registry, just so it's protected in future.
Last night the realtor dropped by with more papers to sign -- I forget what they were; I think it involved agreements not to allow the child to eat the lead paint, and not to sue the realtors if we discovered mold (I laughed at that; come to think of it, I've been laughing at a lot of the things I sign; this can't be good) -- and the child, who was in his pajamas already and about to go to bed, wanted to know if he could sign papers, too.
I explained to him that, though he is a valuable human being, and deserving of respect and serious consideration, and also very good at signing his name, his signature held no legal water cause 1) he's 8 years old and not considered to be of full rational capability and 2) he's got no money.
Now, I said, if you were a child star, that would be somewhat different; you'd have money. However, your dad would be your manager (not me, since I've got a full-time job professing), and we'd be the guardians of your money, and you still wouldn't get to sign anything, unless of course, you objected to how we were spending the money, in which case you could get a lawyer and fire us, and maybe even divorce us, but as it is, you've got no money to back up your signature, and even if you did, you'd still be 8. Alas. The things we're signing are all about money, I said. Even that part about the lead paint, really, cause though it purports to be about your health, it's really about Lawsuits.
I'm going to find out what he wants to agree to, though, cause I think we could very easily draw up an Agreement for us all to sign.
I expect he thinks we're agreeing to take care of the house and not turn it into a New Development From Hell. And maybe we're agreeing not to rip off the 1840 addition and build a geodesic dome. From Hell.
But what would he himself be agreeing to? Keeping the lego buildings out of the living room? I'd like that. Caring for the bunnies, the deer, the raccoons, the groundhogs? Fine by me, as long as they stay out of the garbage. Not playing with the fire in the fireplace and burning the house down? Excellent. Oh, and for sure, not eating the lead paint. That I'll have to insist on.
I'll have to find out what he wants to agree to, as I say.
He's excited about the house (we're supposed to close on June 30, if all goes well, just when I get back from England), and he's excited about the acres of land to play on, but he's worried about leaving the house he's lived in all his life so far, and he's concerned about the process of getting rid of unnecessary items (since he knows damn well his mother considers much of what he owns to be Useless Plastic Crap), and he's bothered about moving away from his neighborhood friends.
All of this displaces itself onto the cats. He's been having lots of conversations with me about how the cats are going to be scared when we're moving, but they'll be safe in their carriers first and the bathroom over at the "new" house later, and how it'll take the cats a while to get used to things but then they'll love the new house, and how they'll be happier if they get lots of pets and cuddles.
Right.
Sort of like the 8-year old human, I take it.
Though we'll let him out of the bathroom while we're moving.
As long as he agrees to stay away from the paint.
***************************
*If you go to the link, click on the little map. See that big ol' chunk, clearly missing from the sold-out development? That's Bear's Retreat.
<< Home