Sweet Dreams are Made of These

I want to take the time to write this out before I forget it.

I always seem to forget about my dreams.  I try my hardest to remember every minute detail, but then even the important details seem to slip my mind in time.  It's strange.  Because dreams must come from somewhere I think.  Maybe a subconscious tryst in the brain comes to the forefront when everything else shuts off at bed time.  Or maybe it's just nonsense that I put meaning into because I want it to mean something.  Who knows!!!!!!!!!!!

This dream I had last night was really weird in that most of it seemed like a typical day in life.  We went to breakfast with some friends and their kids and the conversation was completely typical of what would go on all of the other times we have gone to breakfast.  Then the scene changed and I left my family at home after they fell asleep to spend some time with a friend... again nothing atypical from what could conceivably happen on any day.  The shenanigans that ensued while out with this friend were definitely something a weird dream would present, but still believable as something that could happen with this friend (namely her ex-boyfriend was chasing us around with plungers on his hands.. I mean I think.. I know there was something weird and gross in place of his hands hahaha).  Then as my friend parted ways with me to talk to this gross ex-boyfriend, my husband saw me from a park.  As soon as he saw me he bolted up to me and threw me up in the air in the biggest hug I've ever gotten (this is of the weird dream variety.. my husband is never over the top and never emotional or overly affectionate).  He was worried about me because I didn't tell him I was leaving the house when I fell asleep.  But instead of chastising me for where I was, he was just so happy to see me and save me from what he could only imagine had happened to me.

I guess to anyone reading this (probably no one actually but let's just pretend) the description of this dream would seem like something easily forgettable.  So what?  But me, no.  I woke up on my back (I ALWAYS sleep on my side!) with the wind knocked out of me!!  I think this dream came from a realm of my brain that was trying to tell me something because this dream affected me so much.

I know marriage can be like a snake, bending this way and that, shedding layers of skin, all in order to digest whole animals and fit into different spaces.  I know my marriage is definitely just that with all we have been through and all of the changing we both are still going through as young adults.  But sometimes completely normal dreams like these can make you realize how completely weird real life is.

As a child of alcoholic parents, I know a lot about myself.  I've seen a therapist at a young adult age, thanks to my parents as well.  I've learned that from a young age I have only allowed myself to trust myself.  If any kind of a situation stresses me or if I have an emotional response to something, I completely withdraw.  I use myself as a defense mechanism.

In the past, when I completely withdraw, it has caused my husband to immediately make the effort to pull me back in.  He fears that he is the reason why I am unhappy every time I am unhappy; we are both proactively paranoid people.  I've learned to tell him right away if I'm feeling overwhelmed or irritated that it has nothing to do with him, I am simply feeling out of sorts, as I have a habit of being unable to communicate what is going on in my head until I fully understand it and wrap it up internally.  Just telling him right off of the bat that it has nothing to do with him settles him until I can let go and bring him in.

This has worked, obviously to my detriment, for the first almost ten years since we've been in an relationship, and almost 3 years of marriage.  Except this last time it seems as though he is done with the charade.

We are having financial struggles, trying to figure out what our next step will be, if we will take a next step, or if we will continue living in fear of a bounced check until some kind of next step just stumbles upon us.  This brings strife and agony into our relationship.  And this, coupled with the monthly hormones, has caused me in the last week to .. you guessed it.. completely retreat into my own cocoon.

I don't know what it is, maybe he's figured me out, maybe he has his own stressed to draw himself into his own cocoon this time, or any reason, but he has not showed any affection, let alone concern for what is going on with me this time.  I thought this day would one day come and be refreshing.  But when I'm done with this cocoon and just want to break out without further explanation on all of it, he's still out of reach.

Okay I'm even making myself gag about cocoons right now.

Anyway, I'm realizing all of this today and right now AFTER I had last night's dream.  The way he was so concerned for me was so refreshing .. it made me want to scream when I woke up.  And after realizing this was a dream, I congruently immediately realized that I have this extremely childish urge to just make my escape all of the time without any explanation.  Which just makes me so utterly mortified.

It's as though I do this for attention.  As a kid, maybe I leaned on myself and retreated into myself to see if anybody cared.  Maybe if they saw me off alone and saw how hurt I was as a child sitting away from everyone and never opening up to anyone, they would finally see me and see that I needed love and attention more than anything.  Maybe I was constantly testing every one in my childhood life and they all failed.  And I never believed any one would get it.  This of course would all have to be subconsciously.

I found a guy who actually gave me everything I wanted in that moment.  And I continued to shut him out and I feel so ashamed of myself.  Don't get me wrong, we have amazing times, probably about 80% amazing and 20% not so amazing, but there are those times that exist.

I guess it took a dream to make me realize all of that.

Parenting with PMS

We do everything for our children.  Every reaction, every word, every plan itself, is strategically planned. We take pride in the forward thinking we use to walk our children through life soas to help them through every step.  Until, that is, the dreaded time of the month.

I remember growing up and finding my mom on her hands in knees scrubbing the kitchen floor until she cussed at the stains like they were there just to spite her.  Every time I would promptly turn on the tip of my heel and sneak away, knowing that this was a bad time.  No, not just a bad time, THE time.  THE time of the month.

Looking back I remember thinking that my mom used PMS as an excuse to get the thorough cleaning done in the house.  That's why she was so unapproachable, so vacant, so volcanic.  It wasn't until having two three year olds of my own did I understand what my mom could have possibly went through during these squares on the calendar.

Having PMS with kids makes me want to make time freeze.  It's like the world's spinning around me and all I want to do is lie down on my back, my limbs stretched as far away from my body as I can manage, and just wish as hard as I can that my hearing ears would cease and desist.  

I mean can somebody please tell me what it is that makes me unable to function once a month for the last 7?  It's almost as though as my kids get older my hormones get more aggressive in the war against my common sense.  I KNOW I should gently sit my children down and explain to them on the third instance of poop in their underwear this week that they have options when they have to go, and yet my hormones will not allow my facial muscles to move in the mask of a smile.  I KNOW when I'm running late dropping them off that I should still talk to them during the ride over about what they want to do when they get to grandma's, and yet my hormones win the battle by holding my gaze strictly on the road in front of me.   I KNOW I should smile and nod when my mother in law lectures me about pushing them too hard to not wear diapers during the day at the ripe age of 3 years and 7 months because she means well, and yet my hormones do all the talking when I abruptly exclaim "okay kids if you want to keep playing with grandpa you can but I'm leaving in two minutes with or without you".

Ugh.  I hate myself.

Are they getting older or am I getting older?  

The number one goal as a mom, at least in my world, is to be a different mom than your own.  Not that your mom was bad, per say, but as your mom's toughest critic, you seem to know exactly how she could have done things better.  It's weeks like these that make me feel like the mom I never wanted to be.  And soon enough, my sons will be spinning on their heels to avoid me.  Let's hope they don't have to learn that lesson on their own at this point.  

That's why for lent I am giving up PMS. 

Wish me luck!

Never fall in love.. with a set of walls.

Short sales, by def, are shady.

There are so many different levels of "for sale" that short sale is like a blanket of "don't bother" when looking for a home.  Investors make your move, families beware!

One month into our journey, we fell head over heeeels for a beach house.  And by head over heels I mean like that piece of pudding pie you only wanted to take one bite of but just keep eating bite after bite.. I'd like to take a Housewives move and smother it in ketchup, deeming it inedible.  The beach house essentially ended up drenched in a thick layer of ketchup; so close to being finished bite by bite, until the party was inevitably ruined for all.

Now, when you hear beach house I know what you're thinking.  Hawaii.  Venice Beach.  Even Baker Beach.  No, you're mistaken, silly!  Remember?  Short sale.  By beach house I mean house on a corner of a busy street leading to, not a beach, but a cliff above the ocean where hang gliders take the plunge for that gust of, no not only salty air, but putrid fruity air, due to the garbage dump included behind the back yard.  San Francisco beaches are, by def, miserable.  However, the view of the ocean is definitely the only amazing part of being by the beach.

Which is essentially how this love story began.  House needed tons of work, the yard.. eh... buttttt climb up to the top of the hilly landscape and perch on the (imaginary) couple's swing to overlook the beautiful ocean.  Make sure you bring every blanket in the house, but still enjoy.

I mean the hardwood floors were painted black.  The bedrooms were the size of that sardine can the Rescuers (that underrated Disney movie with the chubby mouse attempting to woo a posh and very English mouse) rode in (and the Seagul takes them everywhere while they can cozy up in their little can). Ah sorry good movie.

Point is, we saw potential.  And made an offer right away.  For above the asking price!  Our delusional, sappy, crazy asses drove up there almost every night for a couple of weeks to look around, show parents, show the kids, map our routes to and from work and day care, play in the adjacent parks, EVERYTHING!  We essentially almost started camping there.

Low and behold the realtor never presented our offer.  Apparently the bank had turned down previous low-balled offers before the sale price was lowered.  So the selling agent thought it would be best to re-present EXPIRED offers before entertaining the idea of ours (aka inside job ding ding).  Our offer was still highest in the corral of bids, so we waited it out.

And still never heard.

And still haven't heard.  But recently checked and saw that the beach house was no longer on the market.  Basically the banks missed out biggggg time on cashing in on our higher offer, or we like to think so.

And so we saddled our defeated asses back into that speedy BMW to see what other run down places we could offer our lifes' savings for.  Yippee!!!

Faaaaaaaame... puts you there where things are hollowww

A break from the short sale saga to direct tribute to a contemplative great.

Why is David Bowie so amazing, and so not all at the same time?  You seriously have to be in the exact frame of mind to enjoy one of his songs.. and when you find yourself there you can't get enough!  Savor this time until you've had enough I say; you never know when you will find the pocket of David Bowie love in your brain again.

With Outside Lands just in my backyard I find myself sitting at this computer wishing that the Great Neil Young will come and swoop me up (as if I would run away!).  He would kidnap me and sit me right in the middle of the grass field in GG Park with all of the accoutrements of hippi concert living and take me out of this place of dark misery brought on by yet another week of having our hopes up and another weekend of not moving.  Has anyone in history ever wanted to MOVE this much before?

And I digress, this is a break from the short sale.. yet it's like being a mom of twins and getting a pedicure at the same time.  So wonderfully blissful, yet the time is indulgently spent with torturous thoughts over how many diapers or shoes can be bought with the amount of money spent on this beautiful blip in time.. someone is rubbing your feet, you're even holding that a coveted warm Starbucks in hand, and right as you drift off into trashy magazine reading heaven you are awaked with a lighting jolt of "WAIT did I rinse out the sippy cups before I filled them this morning!!!!!!!".  Such as this, no daydream about Neil Young, or Dave Grohl for that matter, can be had without reflecting on the piss-poor situation the banks have led us into.

These daydreams got me so giddy, thinking I could run into these famous people in my neighborhood, EVEN BETTER that they could potentially kidnap me in my wildest dreams!  Then I started thinking.. what would I do if I ran into one of these FAMous people?  Knowing me I'd probably act cool and not make eye contact.  If I'd treat them just like any other person, then why is the thought of inevitably ignoring them so exciting??  I mean, I'd never dream of anyone else kidnapping me.

Maybe David Bowie is right, is Fame where things are hollow?  Count me out, I'm about filling myself back up these days.

... and still listening to the beautiful music solely on my headphones.

Who's the loser NOW.

Open House // Open Mind

The best way to walk (typically after removing shoes) into an open house is to enter with the knowledge and understanding of what it is you are looking for in a potential house. 

Our mind frame:

Coming from duplex living, we knew we needed a yard.  Assuming that our (now three year old) boys will some day not refuse to use the "potty", we thought it best to shoot for two bathrooms.  Due to our overwhelming obsession with all HGTV/DIY Network shows, we hoped for a house we could do mundane fixings on to not only leave our imprint, but to also bank on added value and on the market turning around.

Our experience, DAY ONE:

1. House with Chinese characters on the garage door.  Not bad.  Price very favorable due to the past owner passing away inside of the house (in our eyes a plus, morbid I know.).  The living area was all contained upstars; three bedrooms, two bathrooms, very out-dated (HGTV plus).  Downstairs had a huge basement/indoor "back yard" as my dad called it.  Meager cement back yard.  Not bad, but we weren't jumping for joy exactly.  This is the house that has since sold and my dad swears we should have jumped on.

2. House with... well... who knows.  All that we saw of this house was an eager realtor, who was waiting outside when we arrived.  Interesting, considering it was 50 degrees outside (excruciatingly cold for San Francisco Bay Area).  As she urged us up the steps into the "open" house, we were met by four men sitting around a hot pot BBQ.  They aggressively explained that they would not be moving and would not allow any people into the house, no matter what.  Apparently the owner of the home was attempting to foreclose, while also collecting rent from these people living in the house.  This took a new spin on short sale karma that we never imagined.  We happily turned around and left before the brawl began and named the day's work a success.

We did not realize on day one how necessary it would be to act fast.  Afterall, these short sales can take months to make it to fruition.  Somehow we weren't prepared for the course we would have to follow throughout the coming year....

The beginning

As a young family of four with a cat living in the San Francisco Bay Area, rent money did not come easy.  A double income family with parents holding entry level jobs can only pay so much, on top of day care expenses, wedding credit payments, and other bills.  The small duplex with a driveway for a yard did not seem to satisfy the growing amount of things accumulated for twins and gifts given over a wedding's time.  The focus was on the family and providing a happy and stable place to call home for the little guys.

It all began with a realtor father advising his daughter and son-in-law that this was the perfect time to get into the market.  Start low and aim for the sky when the market turns around in five to six years was the goal.  And, hey, mortgage payments can't be much more than rent payments.

The two saddled in the BMW tentatively and, dare they admit it, excitedly to see what this experience had in store for them.  The babies were napping with grandma and this idle time was planned for Sunday excursions around the Peninsula.

And this was the beginning.

Bob Marley & The Wailers - Concrete Jungle (Live BBC 1973) HQ Audio