Yesterday was to be the last day in our house and I was working hard to prep for our big move out. Boxes packed, my father-in-law's small utility trailer loaded up with stuff to go to our storage unit, a game of Chocolatier... (Give me a break, even Superman needs a break every once in a while. And that game is as addicting as the sweet treats you concoct on your adventures.)
I was in the middle of boxing up a bunch of the miscellaneous stuff that doesn't seem to fit into any box. My boys were "helping". Things were going as smoothly as they can when you have three boys whose toys have all been packed up.
Then the phone rang.
I figured it was my husband telling me he was on his way home to help get things ready to go. He had planned to leave work early to take a couple of loads to the storage unit and to his parents' house. Then we were going to enjoy the last night in our house by watching a movie or something.
He led with, "Um, you're not going to like what I have to say."
I rolled my eyes. "Please tell me we're not having company tonight." That always tends to happen when we most want to have time to ourselves.
"No." He paused. I was too busy taping up a box to notice his hesitation at first. "Our realtor called," he said. "The buyers backed out."
This was me. (Stage 1: Denial)
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I swear I couldn't speak for ten, maybe twenty minutes, er, seconds.
I responded with something brilliant and insightful. "What?"
"The buyers backed out," he repeated. "They couldn't get the financing to work. And they want their earnest money back."
My genius once again shone through. "What?!"
You get the gist. I was numb and in shock. My mind could not wrap itself around what he was trying to tell me. After we hung up, I ducked into my bedroom and called the realtor myself. She confirmed the bad news before assuring me our house would be back up on the market as soon as humanly possible.
"But what about the earnest money?" I begged, grasping at straws. There had to be something we could do to make this better. "Isn't that supposed to be ours once they passed their due diligence deadline?" My eloquence had apparently returned at that point. And my brain. (Stage 2: Bargaining)
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I hung up and stared at the floor.
Then I did the logical thing.
I bawled. (Stage 3: Depression)
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I couldn't help it. It just happened. Weeks of prep - packing, cleaning, staging - followed by the thrill of a quick sale and actually starting to move out had taken its toll on me. I simply could not hold it in anymore. So I let it all out.
My younger boys were clueless, playing with something they shouldn't in the family room. My 13yo graciously watched his brothers while I got it together. He's a good kid that way.
After indulging myself in a mini self-pity party, I dried my eyes.
And I got mad. (Stage 4: Anger)
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I am focused. Single-minded.
As dangerous as a stay-at-home mother of three boys can be, at least.
By the time my husband got home, we had done three hours worth of work in one.
I was also exhausted. Cycling through emotions that quickly really wears a girl out.
My wonderful husband indulged in my need to get out of the house and we ran errands before coming home and crashing.
After a good night's sleep, I woke feeling refreshed and ready to face the day. Our plan of action includes cleaning, more packing, and staging for more showings. The situation stinks to high heaven, but we can't dwell on it. (Stage 5: Acceptance)
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