Laugh With Me

This is the single most stupefying thing to happen to me in a long time. I had no idea it was even possible, yet, here I am.

When hubby and I bought the house two years ago I borrowed money from one of the great middle class Piggy Banks of Life – my 401K. The first and only withdraw from my 401K – a down payment on a house.  Seems reasonable enough, right? Not for a vacation, not for a trivial pursuit.  But for a Home.

This is where it gets good. So, we borrow the money, make our down payment, and move in. We are so happy. We have made a SENSIBLE INVESTMENT.  We OWN PROPERTY and ponder this – owning a part of the earth in any sense, then ponder what it would mean if no one owned anything and various and sundry other in-between options, then I gaze lovingly again at my tiled kitchen floor and three bathrooms, one being a “pink bathroom” (watch my search engine hits rise with that phrase) and my mortgage bill. I do indeed own at least a house with all the associated responsibilities, even if the earth part I’m more or less co-habiting with and adding some sunflowers to.

So, first, we start paying off the borrowed down payment money. Immediately. Auto-deducted from my check. Good enough.

Second, the house is re-assessed. Re-assessed for the first time since the last owners had it assessed when they bought it. It is assessed MUCH HIGHER. This, apparently, happens. This is “normal.” And at first, our payments don’t go up.

Fast forward to Year 2, this year. Our monthly payments (mortgage, taxes and insurance) are up by nearly $200. The mortgage is a fixed rate. It’s the taxes. And. And. The value of the house is now assessed at LESS than we paid for the house.

This means I am paying $200 more per month for taxes for a house worth less than what we paid for it. Worth so much less, in fact, that the money I borrowed for the down payment no longer exists. I am repaying money that does not, in fact, exist. On a house that we could not sell even if we had to because of all the houses dumped on the market right now. On a house where capital improvements are a risky venture at best.

And the money I am both re-paying and investing in my 401K continues to lose value as well.

I am utterly stupefyied by this and take but one consolation, learned from my mother: Hubby and I are, at least, in good company. Go Team America.

By the by, the house needs a new roof. We’re getting estimates now but don’t plan to purchase until next year. Did you know roofing materials are petroleum products and therefore directly tied to gas prices?

Oh yes, boys and girls, laugh with me before I’m a cryin’.

Lifeless Personal Update

OK, so normally I try to be entertaining and occasionally poignant (ooooo, watch that $40,000 English major education at work) on this blog. I share  my ideas and what’s going on with my life in a way that would perhaps make somebody other than than those in the friends-and-family category care. I mean, a Following would be good, I am not above admitting it. Not that I have a following.  I can’t really tell with WordPress’s stats although I do occasionally get comments from utter strangers who apparently google something of interest to them and find me (the most popular search terms hitting me being “pink bathroom”). I have a hard time believing they read me on a regular basis despite the urgings of my ego. But I have had classmates that I hadn’t seen in a couple of years catch up with me at the library to say, “I just love your blog” and I’m all, “I am soooooooo cool.” And in those moments its worth all the editing.

In any case, lately its been a lot of garden shots. I like my garden. But I haven’t felt particularly inspired lately, hence the lack of verbiage (it’s the English major thing again. Don’t tell me you use these words without the $40,000 I spent on Chaucer et al, I really don’t need to know).

But the lifeless personal updates today are that I’ve broken a personal weight loss goal with Weight Watchers. A small one, nevertheless my first one. I am happy about this. Also, yesterday was the first day in two months I didn’t take pain killers for my back. Oh, it’s been a good 48 hours.

Wee Garden’s First Blooms

Ready! Set! Go!

Cotton Candy

Candy hops up in my lap for a little lap time of cuddling and petting. She takes to licking me, then settles down for her pets, then a little bath for herself, leaning her head over every few minutes to lick my fingers. “Ah!” I think, “She’s such a sweet, loving girl. Look how attached she is to me, look how trusting. Oh, how connected I feel to my new cat.”

Then she leans her head over and studiously licks my freshly washed cotton pants for at least 30 seconds. Lick, lap, lick, lap. “Candy?” I say, “Have I just been outdone by my sweat pants?”

Pinch Hitting

I am the regular litter box cleaner in the Distribution of Household Chores here in the Snakelady and Hubby home. It’s all good.

When we lived in the two apartments, Beth would sit close by, usually in the pose of the sphinx, and watch me change the litter. I’d start fussing in her area and her bell would jingle and there she’d be, come to supervise. “Making sure I do it right?” I’d ask her. She’d disdainfully turn her head, and then come down to check out the final product when I was finished. Hubby pinch hit for me a few times during those years, no problems.

But things have changed since we moved into the New House two years ago. Miss B. seems very comfortable here, she loves her Domain of our fenced backyard where she gets outdoor time every day three seasons a year. And she’s never gone outside of her litter box, but there’s been a change in her when I change or clean the litter. We still share a guaranteed time together when I’m doing it, but now she’s sitting close by with her cute little face askew with anxiety. Askew. I talk her through the operation.

“Come down to make sure I don’t f*** it up, honey? It’s OK sweetie, you don’t need to cry.” I maintain a steady stream of Mumma-cooing. She looks up at me with suspicious eyes.

Twice since we moved in, hubby has changed the litter. The first time I was on a trip for work and he reported that Bethesda got violent, hissing and clawing at him, snarling, growling. Neither of us has ever seen her like that. She’s never actually attacked anyone or anything. This was long before Candy Cane joined our household.

The second time he changed the litter was yesterday. My back is out and so hubby went down to do it, but he asked me to join him to stave off Miss B’s vengeance. She followed us and stared anxiously and suspciously, but not making any moves toward us. Then.

Then. Hubby blew it. He was refilling one of the boxes and spilled several cups of litter on the floor.

“Mee-oww!” she interjected, trotting over to where we were and stomping over the spilled litter. “Me-ow, me-ow, me-ow, boo! boo!” Hubby put the litter in the box and we cleaned up, Miss B. the whole time mewling and complaining. When we stepped back she went to check out both boxes carefully. She looked up at me, “He sucks as a pinch hitter, coach.” she said, “Get better by next Thursday.”

Below: Miss B. in her Domain checking out the Wee Garden: