THE WAITING GAME

I do realize I have been absent since June 10 from updating this rather riveting saga (I’m sure you’ve all been checking your computers nightly…), but apparently some of you actually read this, much to my surprise.  Austin’s co-worker, Macy, reminded him to remind me that I hadn’t updated in a while.  In short, work has been nuts; life has been nutser (you know what I mean).  Here you go, Macy!

Since the last time I divulged about our continuing construction calamities, a lot has changed.  We broke ground, poured a foundation, framed out, insulation was blown, walls were sheet rocked, garage doors were installed, and tile was grouted! Funny how that took me .03 seconds to type but seemed like it took SOOOO long to occur, even though it really didn’t. I wanna move BAD…can you tell??  Aaaand the wait continues…

It has been utterly fascinating to watch the entire process. This could be because it’s my first home or the fact that I am an HGTV junkie and hope to one day find Candice Olson in my living room hanging curtains and positioning a pair of her Brady club chairs in my living room (check them out – they’re FABULOUS!  http://www.mycandicedesign.com/furniture/item.dT/chairs).  It’s a strange feeling watching your future place of memories evolve before your eyes.  It’s somewhat humbling and makes me feel extraordinarily fortunate to be in a position to do this at 23 years old.

I also think some of these emotions I am currently experiencing stem from my recent experience volunteering at Habitat for Humanity.  We closed down our offices at work and spent the day learning how to use nail guns, circular saws, and how to sheet rock.  It was a beyond rewarding experience that truly opened my eyes to not only how much work goes in to building a house, but also to the blessings I am so fortunate to have received.  I was lucky to spend a day helping someone else receive those same blessings. We all plan to go back as often as possible.

After walking as if I had been riding a horse for 4 days and massaging the rock hard knots out of my neck from my day of power tool usage, I was feeling almost normal again by Monday. I’m just glad I wasn’t the poor guy from Devon who shot the nail gun straight through his thumb, pinning him against the wall until the paramedics arrived.  Someone should give me THAT genius’s salary he’s probably making working as an engi-nerd. At least I didn’t skewer myself to the sheet rock, Bill Nye (yes, he actually has a legitimate engineering degree).

After three months of checking on our house nearly every day, it happened this week that we received locks on our doors and the garage doors were installed. This means we cannot come and go as we please, but we must get a key from Home Helper (remember her?) so we can get in. I guess it means we are one step closer to finishing. The tentative estimate to be finished by the end of September was squashed a long time ago by 9 ½ Finger Tom (remember him?), but I would rather them make everything perfect and be in there later than my house cave in when I change the toilet paper roll. We should receive our final projected closing date tomorrow. We are more than anxiously awaiting that phone call considering we locked in at November 15 and could lose our ridiculously low interest rate if we go beyond that. Pray that the construction gods are with us (for the 9,843 time).

Although everything has been rolling rather smoothly as of late, I will say the hubs and I have one more teensy thing we have yet to agree on… the island light fixture(s).  The “s” is precisely what about started World War 4 (WW 3 was over the storm shelter…remember that?)…. and  World War 5…and 6….. I think we are on World War 12 when it comes to this dang fixture. I want one large, stately fixture. Hubs wants three small, sleek, modern pendants. Boo. It always seems like the smallest things are the hardest to agree on.  I am hopeful the only “agreeing” that will be done in the next couple of weeks is him speaking the blissful words, “Get what you want.”  I am STILL waiting….

SHADIER THAN BENEDICT ARNOLD

Well, we didn’t need as much luck and prayers for no hair pulling as I thought we were going to.  After some ill-timed email malfunctions in which we did not receive our master wish list until the afternoon of our final End-Of-Our-Lives sign meeting, everything ended up working out quite nicely.  As we walked in to visit with Home Helper, we were confronted by our overly-concerned (and rather hyper) interior designer, Dana. “You haven’t chosen your shutters OR exterior paint color yet!” she chided us.  Geez, lady.  Give it a rest, for the 28^th time.  After I inform her that the website she gave me (after requesting it from her 12 times) isn’t functioning properly, the light bulb comes on. Ding.  Realization.  We pull it up together (apparently she didn’t believe me) and she sees the problem. Apparently Shutter Lady has decided to re-design her website right in the middle of our much-needed selection time slot.

We end up choosing our shutters from visual examples (better for me, anyway) and moved on to exterior paint color. This is a very unexpectedly nerve-wracking decision for me. We can choose ANY paint color in the fan…even orange. Much to Austin’s dismay, we opted more toward the tan end of the spectrum.  Of all the decisions we have made so far, this makes me the most jittery. What if I end up choosing something that looks fine on the swatch but en-mass turns my house a putrid shade of old lady worn –out- slippers pale pink?!  GAG with a capital G-A-G.  I am a-feared this could take a while, but apparently I don’t have “a while” since Design Diva Dana is breathing down my neck while beaming lasers out of her square-frame bespectacled eyes.  All in all, she has been great to work with, but today my patience (and paint selecting skills) are really being tested.

As we sit down with Christen to sign our lives away, we begin the process by eliminating some design extras we have decided are not necessary (luckily we agreed on 100% of them…shocking, I know).  After asking questions about some unidentified numbers that look rather high (and ones I would definitely rather nix), we receive clarification on extra concrete driveway costs and Austin’s beloved HDMI cable for our living room. Unfortunately, those pesky numbers had to stay.  Once we get the extras eliminated and total costs figured, we are faced with a serious dilemma.  Our price per square foot is too high – we have officially priced ourselves out of the market. And here I thought everything was moving along so swimmingly. Unfortunately at that moment, we were closer to struggling to keep our head above water.  We needed some floaties – STAT!

We decide to eliminate the fence (yes, I know I have an 85 pound ball of fur to contain, but I will logic it out for you shortly).  After some weighing back-and-forth of different options, we finally get the price down to where it needs to be, but not before my husband attempts to start World War III with me over the cost of our storm shelter.  I inform him we could get it cheaper at a later date (about $1,000 cheaper, to be exact) but he seems to think since he’s never known anyone who has one that he knows better than me. Who wants to tell him he’s wrong? No one rush all at once.  When Home Helper leaves to grab some copies she printed, I give him a stare that makes Design Diva’s look like puppy eyes.  He gets the point.  In the famous (or infamous) words of good ol’ Chuck…WINNING.

Ok, so we’ve made the circle back to the fence.  You’re probably wondering why someone who owns a dog (a rather large one at that) would eliminate a fence from their plans.  Well, kiddos, we happen to have a good friend who is the superintendent for another home building company in the area (don’t cry treason just yet), and he has offered his services to help the hubs build our fence AT COST, thereby saving us a whopping 50%.  Hot damn!  You’d commit treason too if you could save half…trust me.  If you don’t believe me (feel free to sit in the tree fort with the rest of Design Diva’s club) try building your own house and see what it drives you to do (besides drink). Being the overly-concerned first time home buyer I am, our friend also informs me he has access to all the proper tools and promises me on his life that our fence will be level and the epitome of professional-looking.  Hmm.  I am considering sealing this deal in blood just to make sure.

After all eliminations have been made and we are on track for the perfectly-priced home (if there is such a thing), we start signing and initialing all pages.  After page 14, my hand starts to cramp. Is this a sign?! Just kidding.  Once the final numbers have been calculated, Home Helper informs us our price has come down from our original sans upgrades, something rarely (if ever) seen on her end. Take that, construction gods.  You will NOT defeat the master bargain hunter.  On our final pages, I spot something previously undiscovered.  I can add oil-rubbed bronze faucets to all rooms for the price I originally thought was just for the kitchen. WHAAAAT?!  I give my husband the previously-avoided puppy eyes.  It works.  The construction gods may have gotten in one final hit, but overall I come out ahead.  Wielding my victorious pen post-signing, I feel utterly victorious. 

We don’t escape without promising Dana to return Friday afternoon with our exterior paint selection. Today is Friday. We STILL have not decided. Oopsie.     

THE OL' STAMP OF APPROVAL...WITH UPGRADES

Over Memorial Day, my mother-in-law is coming from Houston and she has not seen anything about our house.  Austin and I are both really excited to see her reaction.  We take her to the model home, which has a lot of our features, and then into the floor plan similar to ours under construction. She loves everything genuinely. The hubs and I couldn’t be more thrilled. Even though it’s our house and we are the ones living there every day, there is still something about seeing your mother’s reaction of approval that lets you know you’re doing the right thing. My mom tagged along, and we had a grand ol’ time. Sigh of relief.

The next week, I get online to the home builder website to look up some pictures and what I see on the home page sends my head reeling and my heart sinking.  In bold letters it reads: PURCHASE OR CUSTOM BUILD A HOME IN JUNE AND RECEIVE $5,000 IN FREE UPGRADES.  Damn to infinity!!!!  I immediately call Austin and my mother and pow-wow some way to see if we qualify. I want to have a solid argument if Home Helper balks at giving us this perk.  I want that $5,000! I make the call. Apparently Christen is on the phone right at the moment I decide to call.  Figures.  I hold. Less than 2 minutes later, she answers.  I don’t want to stutter as I ask. I want to sound confident. So I just ask. She tells me we qualify and she was going to call me that very afternoon to let us know. WOWZA.  That happened so fast. They had just decided the evening before to run the promotion. The five houses being built in the new section all qualify for the upgrades. My heart soars.  This means we won’t have to cut as many upgrades on our wish list as previously thought! My day has been made. I go around my office high-fiving everyone I see.  The next task at hand, however, has me thinking it could be a true relationship tester.  We have to narrow our wish list to make sure it fits within our budget.  Even with our newfound $5,000, we most likely are going to have to make some cuts.  Wish us luck. We’re going to need it!              

ANYTHING "SHAG" ONLY BELONGS IN AN AUSTIN POWERS MOVIE

Design meeting number two started off better than I predicted. Before going inside, Austin informs me I should pick most everything because I can see the whole picture and he can’t. He trusts my opinions. I could kiss him…and I do.  I tell him I want him to like it, too.  I sincerely do. I can’t imagine him disliking his own home. That would break my heart.  But after that brief feeling of sympathy passed, I jetted inside to finally meet Dana and pick out the other goodies.  Austin returned to his orange shag carpet swatch as a sort of soothing mechanism. After being granted decision-making privileges, the orange carpet isn’t looking so bad, but he’s still not getting it.  After finalizing some previously made decisions, including a GORGEOUS brown glass tile backsplash (upgrade), we finally agree on granite, bathroom tile, wall paint, and crown molding colors. Then, I get to deliver the joyous news that my antique white cabinets are a go (yet another upgrade - quadruple damn!).  Excitement doesn’t begin to describe it. Austin, of course, has no clue what in the world could make cabinets so thrilling. Typical man.   He did, however, understand the kitchen is my favorite room and something I have had a vision about for quite some time, so he humored me. Bless his soul.  (And yes, the orange carpet is STILL out of the question even at the stage of elation I am currently experiencing.)  We choose wood flooring for the kitchen and entry, which Austin picked out and did a rather excellent job if I do say so myself. Yay for small victories!

We left design meeting #2 in much higher spirits (and with fewer murderous thoughts) than meeting #1.  The next time we met it would be to pick out brick, appliances, exterior paint, and shutters.  When that day finally arrived a week later, we were starting to form a picture of our new home as it would look finished inside. The night before our pre-construction meeting, we had gone to a gated neighborhood with a list of addresses in hand to look at brick colors. Upon entering courtesy of a resident who knew the gate code, we were stared at like dryer fuzz on a black sport coat – definitely unwanted.  Eventually, we saw every color there was and settled on an entirely different one 5 minutes before our meeting the next day. And the saga continues. Thrilled with our choice, we found shutters and paint that tied everything together.  And by some miracle of the home building heavens, we actually agreed. On everything. Can I get a hallelujah?!

Tom, our builder, is a grey-haired man of few words with half an index finger on his left hand.  We go through a checklist of framing, bracing, sheetrocking, electrical, wiring, freezer plugs, yada yada yada.  I lose track of details after hearing we don’t get a garage door opener for our third car garage despite its absolutely unfathomable cost. I quickly remedy that situation and inform him I don’t see what’s so difficult about handing me a $200 opener when I have spent many times that in upgrades.  Dropping my boss’s name didn’t hurt either, considering my boss is Tom’s as well.  I don’t typically play that game, but made an exception for this situation.  He quickly says he will check on it after seeing sparks nearly fly from my head. I am not fully satisfied, but he has placated me for now.  He then informs me we should be finished sometime in September, which means I am counting on Thanksgiving. It’s always longer than you think.  I proceed to inform him that I would be on site every single day and that I spoke Spanish and would be talking to his workers. This is half true. I WILL be on site every day, but my mother is the one who speaks Spanish. She will be acting as my translator for the duration of this process. Should be interesting.  

Dana steps in next and we finalize the elevation (exterior) of the house.  It has come a LONG way from the beginning. Sparing the boring details, we completely changed the entire look. Anyone surprised? Didn’t think so. In the end, it turned out far more fabulous and expensive looking after adding nothing more than some garage door iron hardware at a whopping $67.  I think I need another hallelujah.   The hubs and I are agreeing, the house is taking shape, and there is no orange shag carpet in sight. AMEN.

MY GUMS STILL HURT...

A week or so (and a few minor setbacks) later, we were ready for our first design meeting.  I was planning on getting there an hour before my husband to look at all the pretty, shiny, sparkly things he couldn’t care less about and get all the squeals and giggles out of my system.  As my Friday at work is dragging by, I get a phone call from our designer, Dana, who tells me she has a stomach bug and cannot meet with us. Heavy sigh. Disappointment starts to set in until she tells me I can still meet with someone else. Giddiness returns. At this point my emotions are starting to resemble a rousing game of ping pong, and I am the ball.  Upon my arrival at the design center, I walk into a room COVERED in wood flooring, tile, carpet, granite, and paint swatches. I want to kiss the ground. THIS is what heaven looks like.  There are SO many choices! But I know I have to do my best and stay within the standards included in our purchase price. Damn.

After choosing some flooring and granite counter samples with our sub designer, AmyLynn, Austin arrives. He looks less than thrilled to be in heaven.  We start with some basic tile to warm him up to the process.  Warming up may have been moving too fast. I would have settled for unfreezing at that moment.  He was cold.  Stone cold. No opinions.  No emotion whatsoever.  ACK.   I was at the END of my rope. I threatened his five year old attitude with a night on the couch and no video games, and things slowly improved.  By the end I was receiving opinions, but we weren’t agreeing on much.  Carpet was a small victory. That took all of 30 seconds to choose. Granite was a close second, but kitchen cabinetry was like jamming a toothpick into your gums. He wanted dark stained. I wanted white antique painted. Double damn.

Resigned to the fact that we were going to have to come back to meet with Dana anyway, we called it quits and hoped stepping away would bring clarity.  Walking out the door didn’t bring as much clarity as it did some orange shag carpet Austin spotted from a MILE away and just HAD to touch.  “Living room?” he said with a sly smile. Bah. Just when I wanted to reeeeallly be angry at him, he made me laugh. I tried SO hard not to. It slipped out the corners of my toothpick punctured mouth. TRIPLE DAMN.

WE WERE ON A ROLL UNTIL YOU SAID "DECORATING"

The next day dawned somewhat brighter.  As we made our way to meet with Christen there was a newfound bounce in our step. We joyously handed her the pre-approval letter to a look of ‘I told you everything would work out’.  For once, I was glad someone else was right. Now came the fun part, she said. Floor plans! She handed us several in our size of choice – around 1,800 square feet.  Fortunately, we got to actually see some of them in person, which for someone who is exceedingly visual like me, was a huge help.  We saw some we definitely liked, but weren’t sold (no pun intended) on anything. Finally, she showed us a plan that used to be a show home and it had most everything we wanted – a bigger living space than any we’d seen thus far, a separate office, and minimal hallways (dubbed “wasted space” by my husband).  Even better news for us was the fact that this floor plan was being built currently and we would be able to see it in just a matter of days. We had some changes in mind for it, but minimal compared to other houses…or so we thought.

 Once we got to go in it (and when I say “in” I mean the studs were up so we were actually walking THROUGH the walls) we saw it was indeed what we were looking for, except for one thing. The master bedroom windows faced the side of the house with the not-so-attractive view of your neighbor’s stockade fence. Lovely.  So, with a little tweaking by the hubs (he should really consider a career as an architect after all he did to make it work) we managed to put the master bedroom on the back of the house and move the bathroom to the previous bedroom locale. Whew. After about 4,527 changes back and forth with the architect, (who I am sure has us under a less-than- flattering name in her email address book), including the addition of a third car garage - an entirely different bag of issues- we finally had a floor plan we were IN LOVE with on a lot that was so big they joked about including a goat in our purchase price. Booyah. But then, things took a turn for the worse. For my husband, at least.  “What’s next?!” I asked Home Helper with eagerness. “Design meetings!” she said with sheer glee.  Next to me I hear a slight, painful groan coming from my husband. He does NOT look excited. Great. Now I am beginning to see what people meant when they said this process would be a marriage tester. It was already a patience KILLER. This was the part that I was most looking forward to…and the one my husband dreaded with the passion of a ticked off hornet.  Let the fun begin….

YOU'RE GONNA BUY A WHAT?!

In October 2010, I became the luckiest girl in the world when I married my best friend on a beautiful fall evening in a garden full of family and friends.  I was nearly as fortunate the next morning to jet off on a honeymoon in paradise (St. Thomas, to be exact).  After a week soaking up the sun; sipping on the local drink of choice, the Painkiller (there’s a reason they call it that. I couldn’t feel my lips after number three); and being terrified of the 5-foot barracuda that lurked underneath the ships in the harbor, we headed home to the best sunsets I have ever witnessed – right here in Oklahoma. 

Some abide by the old saying “the honeymoon’s over”, but after 7 months of wedded happiness,  I was still basking in the afterglow.  However blissful we were about our new marriage in the coming months had no match for the feeling that we were missing something in our lives.  And no, I am not talking about the “We-Want-a-Baby-After-a-Mere-5-Months-of-Marriage” sort of missing. I am referring to the rather nauseating realization that our monthly 4-digit check we handed over to our landlord (a rather easygoing oriental man who unassumingly didn’t require a pet deposit for our 85 pound German Shepherd) was giving us no financial benefit in return. 

We knew we were spending as much on rent each month as we would be on a mortgage. It didn’t help matters any that I work for a financial and retirement planning firm and hear EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. how one should invest their money in a home because it’s an appreciating asset. Pretty sure for the first 6 months at my job I didn’t even know what an appreciating asset was.  Also contributing to the homeowner mentality is my husband’s career as an accountant – a self-proclaimed (and dead-on description, may I add) ‘numbers man’.  He understands the ins and outs, ups, downs, and dismal abyss so known as the world of finance.  We both fully comprehended the benefits of home ownership, but the question was, could we afford the upfront costs of owning one now?

After mentioning the idea to family and friends, we received mixed reactions. Our parents were utterly supportive, saying things like, “I would have KILLED to own my first home at 23!” and, ‘You go, girl!” (that was my mom).  Friends, however, gave us that weird ‘I-Somehow-Don’t-Think-You-Can-Afford-This’ look. Very depressing considering they have no clue whatsoever about our personal finances. I fought the urge several times to wave my bank statements in their cynical little faces and shout, “HA! TOLD YOU!” at the top of my lungs.  But worse than that were the subtle comments like, “Wow, I don’t know that I could test my new marriage with something as intense as building a house…” Long pause.  At this point, I had given up trying to respond to people’s reactions --- and leaving me speechless is no easy feat, let me tell you.  It was only after talking with my husband that he made me realize it didn’t matter what anyone else thought. If we knew we could afford it and were comfortable with the numbers, that was all that counted. He’s definitely my calmer (and more rational) half.

As we started to truly embrace the fact that we may be able to afford this so-called ultimate marriage test, we needed a place to begin.  Lucky for me, I work for a man who dabbles in all sorts of businesses and just so happens to own one of the premier home building companies in the area and who has a stake in the bank lending those mortgages.  Welp, luck be a lady…or in our case, luck be my boss on whose shoulders our financial future currently teetered.  After talking with his assistant, we slowly saw the light. She told us interesting facts such as for every $1,000 you put down on a home you save a paltry $7 per month. 7 bucks?! Are you kidding me?!  This HAD to be a joke. But it wasn’t.  Suddenly our future home seemed more of a painting than a mirage.  After budgeting, reconsidering, and budgeting again (there may have been a third time in there), we came up with a final number with which we were comfortable.  I use the term “comfortable” loosely. When you’re handing over a check that forces you to write the numbers in the box far smaller than normal so they all fit, ‘comfortable’ seems a bit inappropriate.

After inhaling into a paper sack later that night and calming our nerves with some much needed wine, excitement started to set in. We were getting our very own house!  Now, the task was choosing where we were going to put our humble abode. Lot pick was the first step, and luckily a choice came fairly easily.  We had the pick of the litter, so to speak - a brand new section with construction to begin in the early weeks of June. Only 4 lots had been reserved at this point, with 26 left for us to stake our claim, but they were moving fast.  As we stood on the red Oklahoma dirt analyzing various lots, we considered things like slope of the land, elevation, and whether or not a utility box would be in our backyard (my husband’s concern).  After a few hours of hemming and hawing in the insane wind, I had the urge to simply plow a flag into the nearest ground that signified “Wentroth Territory – all trespassers will be shot on sight”. It felt very Land-Run-esque (although being out there alone with first pick made me feel like a Sooner  -  a horror I never want to actually experience. Crimson is NOT my color). Finally, we reached a decision among the few we had narrowed it to. A beautiful semi-pie shaped lot. It was one of the largest in the new section, with most of the backyard sitting against a greenbelt beyond our currently imaginary fence line – perfect for our dog who loves to play catch and run everywhere. 

When we made our way back to the office with our decision, we were informed that we had chosen a premium lot. I didn’t know what that meant. Did we win a prize for picking the so-called ‘premium’ lot?? I wanted a prize at this point. A fire pit? Storage shed? Toothpick holder?  None of the above. It meant we had chosen one of the lots that was more expensive than the ones not backing up to the greenbelt.  The wind flew out of my sails – which is pretty remarkable considering it was blowing near 40 while we were debating which one to choose just moments ago.   After re-crunching our numbers for what I was sure was the 25^th time, we decided to keep the lot we had chosen.  After all, you can’t just give back the piece of land you chose to build your first home on. It would be akin to leaving a lost puppy behind who was begging to be loved and sheltered. Heart wrenching, right? It was to us.

Christen, our amazing know-everything Home Helper (my nickname for her), marked the lot down as ‘Reserved’, but sadly declined to shoot anyone who trespassed.  Instead, she ordered a sign that read “Future Home of the Wentroths” to put out front. Guess that will suffice in staking our claim.  She then informed us of our next step – getting a pre-approval letter from the bank. Yipe. This was the part that I had somehow managed to shove (violently, may I add) out of my mind until the last possible second. We both knew we were extremely young in the credit world, and despite Home Helper’s words of wisdom and assurance we would be okay, Austin and I cringed at the thought of being rejected.  Not only was it embarrassing, but we would be leaving our little lost puppy behind to which we had both grown so attached in the mere minutes we had known her. I couldn’t bear the thought. 

The next day, we went to the bank and met with the mortgage lender. As he came out to greet us, I thought it was a mistake. He looked no older than we were, and that was a stretch. This “man” was a CPA? He barely looked as if he’d reached puberty, and HE was going to approve ME for a mortgage? Ludicrous.  Once back in his office (in which I was surprised to find no Legos or Star Wars posters), we produced the customary pay stubs (painless) and waited while he looked up our credit score. Those ensuing moments were the longest (and sweatiest) of my life. I wanted to badly to reach across the desk, grab him by his well-appointed suit lapels and shout, “We can do this! I can prove it to you without a credit score!” I resisted. Instead I just sat there and let my palms become even stickier. It was merely a month before that we had finally found a credit card company willing to lend us some plastic. I imagined our dream home sliding away from us in the foggy abyss and just when it was almost out of my sight, I heard from across the desk, “Actually, you have nearly perfect credit scores for your age. Looks good.”   Looks good. Huh. LOOKS GOOD?!?! I wanted to jump up and down on his neatly stacked papers and shout YIPPEE!! Again, I resisted. I settled for shaking his hand (hopefully mine weren’t too sweaty).  As we walked out of the bank, I clutched that pre-approval letter in my hands like it was manna from heaven. I just hope my slippery palms didn’t smear the ink where it said “APPROVED”….I wanted that part to be fully legible. I think I skipped the last few paces to the car.