The procurement of our new residence has been much more atypical this time around when compared to our last two home purchases. I would guess some of that has to do with being older, more mature, or just more of a jack ass. In any event, we went in this relocation process with a different attitude than the last two.

Let’s recap the history of how my wife and I engage real estate. The first place we bought in 2003 involved a shrewd middle aged female realtor. My wife, who didn’t have that title during this history lesson, and I were strolling around downtown Long Beach looking for a new place to rent. She and I had worn out our welcome at the shack which a friend and I rented in Long Beach. Apparently, it was time to stop living like a college kid. While walking around the Snoop Dogg’s neighborhood, we saw this not-so-engaging sign with the realtor’s disenfranchised mug on it. We thought, “Maybe we should buy something instead of renting.”

We were no where near a financial readiness to comply with such a commitment but we did it anyway. The long and short of this story is that we had little cash, cold called the realtor, looked at four properties, and bought the last one we looked at. I borrowed money out of my 401K for the down payment and we made it work. Our first home purchase, an impulse buy. And it worked, we bought low, sold high and subsidized our next home purchase significantly.

The second purchase was significantly different. The major difference in that purchase was my wife, who was now my wife, stayed behind in Long Beach while I found a job in Seattle and relocated without her. So we shopped by correspondence. I physically looked at 1,000,000 houses. Okay, maybe not that many. But I guarantee it was quite a few more than four homes like the first purchase. This agent was recommended by family. It was a better experience and I felt a little more educated and less pressured to ‘get my shit together’ like the first deal.

We looked at new, old, sheds, tents, shanties, and lean-to’s. Everything. Ultimately, we settled on new construction that was barely even framing when we found it. We were able to customize it. This was a far cry from the mid-80’s place in Long Beach. When my wife relocated, we got into contract and this new structure became our home. Similar to the LBC, we bought low and lived there as house prices soared in Seattle and enjoyed the mammoth amount of appreciation.

Then everything changed. The economy went down like a $2 hooker. We lost a lot of equity over the last year in that house. Despite the unfortunate turn of fate, we still were forced to make future altering decisions. Son #1 was heading off to kindergarten. The school district where the house was built had been great. Then, the city of Renton annexed the area. The new district sucked balls. We had to move in a rough, yet improving, economy.

To make things more complicated, we chose to sell this home outright and wait and see if we could find our dream home. This gave us the greatest financial leverage while exposing us to the most risk of being homeless. After a period of time which tested the miniscule amount of patience I had, our home sold. Not nearly the windfall from our last home. We made a tenth of the net proceeds that we received in the Long Beach sale. Suck. Because of the lack of a contingency, we got stuck renting an apartment while we continued to look for our next home.

And then, a foreclosed property came on the market. We looked once. We looked twice. Then we low-balled an offer to the East Coast bank which owned the property. The process of dealing with a bank owned property is nothing short of annoying and slower than watching grass grow in winter. After an offer, a counter offer, a counter to the counter offer, and a counter to the counter of the counter offer, and three weeks had passed, we were in contract for our next home. Inspection, appraisal, and waiting. We were told that the bank would tell us to pound sand if we found anything wrong with the property short of the roof sliding off or the spontaneous combustion of the siding. None of that existed so we were locked in and waiting for the close of the house. And that’s where it gets more interesting.


Our closing date was the day after our annual visit to the Mecca of downhill mountain biking, Whistler. Being out of the country makes it difficult to sign your closing paperwork. To counter our absence, the title company called to set up an appointment for signing the documents before we left the country. It’s a national company with no local office, so they offered me the ‘convenience’ of having a mobile Notary bring me the paperwork. Let me just say this; the mobile Notary was the biggest joke and most unprepared professional I’ve ever encountered.

Not only was she late, she was one and a half hours late, in disarray, and brought her disrespectful 11 year old son. She shows up, marches in, doesn’t shake my hand or offer an apology, and allows her son to plop down on our couch and launch On-Demand in search for his preferred programming. What the Hell? She then has the nerve to try to convince us that her creepy son can entertain our children


More excuses. The documents at the last signing were incorrect. Her printer broke and she had to go to Kinkos. Whatever. She clearly hadn’t looked at our documents before this. She thought we were refinancing the shoebox apartment in Renton we were living in despite the fact that the paperwork lists a 30 Year fixed loan on a property in Puyallup. Awesome. Page by page, she read the title of each sheet but couldn’t provide a description. I swear she was dyslexic based on here reading. Fortunately for me, I’ve been through this several times before and knew what to look for in the paperwork.

The Notary kept saying that there were forms missing and we would have to fix it before we left for Whistler. There was nothing missing. Keep up the good work, idiot. So I informed my realtor of the experience. Conveniently, the title company neglected to let him know the time of the signing so he didn’t get to experience it first hand. From what I understand, he had a ‘professional’ discussion with the escrow agent about their choice in notaries. I received a very apologetic voice message from the title company about it.



Despite the atypical process in this purchase and our experiences along the way, our loan funded Monday and the sale recorded with Pierce County. We are now proud owners of our new home in Puyallup. It feels good to have this chapter close and the next open. Now we just need to knock out the projects around the house we want completed before we move in at the end of September.

With our keys in hand, we dropped by our new home that was minutes old in our possession. It felt great to let the boys run the gauntlet of the rooms. This is it. The future. My groms will grow up here and become adults just minutes from where I grew up. And with any luck, they’ll move out and quit mooching off their mom and dad. In all seriousness, I'll miss the Renton house. It was our first house here in Washington after we lost family and our lives were shattered. We brought our two little babies home to it. Many, many memories. But our new home will be better.

When you’re a dad of two infinitely energetic and overly dramatic boys, married to your best friend, work for the man in a pressure chamber, and overcome by your own immature obsessions of bikes and skateboards, your days tend to be overrun with unavoidable obligations, a latitude of challenges, and an unfortunate lack of personal introspection.

So when the tumblers of life’s complicated lock line up and reveal the happiness behind the door of obligation, it’s important to carve out the time to pen down the appropriateness of the enlightened moment so you can remember just how beautiful life is.


The theme of the last few months can easily be summarized in one word; compromise. There’s been a lot with the move, the job, the obligations, the changes, and the drama.

On paper, today looked like it was going to be absent of obligations. It was the first day in some time where we didn’t have to go somewhere and do something for someone. So waking up this morning (Saturday), I greeted the day with a cautious optimism. Was it too good to be true? Nope. It lived up to its billing and then some.


It was a day where I really lived up to my 'age' (sort of, but not really).

I started out the day with an early ride at the freeride park to get a fix on my insatiable need for big air and mud. I guess I’m kind of elemental that way. It was great day of rocking a big ass step down and styling over a hip. I headed home after the ride to be greeted by the boys. I grabbed a cold refreshing beer and Son #1 and I plopped our narrow bottoms down on the couch and played some Lego Batman on Wii. After we led the Dark Knight through multiple levels of righting Gotham City, we had a little lunch. Peanut butter jelly sandwiches and BBQ chips for everyone. Gourmet-style which means we served them on plates with napkins.


Son #2 dropped off the radar during nap time, Son #1 got some TV time, and my wife and I were able to grab a moment of ‘clarity’ between the hot laps of the boys around coffee table. Son #1 was disturbed by the peace in the house so we chose to break that up with some entertainment. By way of the evil conglomerate Comcast, we were able to sit at watch the finely produced and surely award winning movie, Alvin and the Chipmunks. In requirements defined by the great authority of parenting, my wife and I each enjoyed a cold adult beverage during the flick. Believe me, it was needed. But Son #1 loved the movie.

And then Son #2 got up from his nap and it was time to run some more. Our plan was to BBQ for dinner but the laziness of the day and the effects of energetic children and alcohol have a slowing effect on a person. So instead, dinner was the vitamin and mineral enriched solution of chili cheese fries and buffalo chicken.

After some more laps around the living room, the boys were promptly shoved into their pajamas and tucked into their beds. The day was coming to an end, so my wife and I grabbed another beer and enjoyed the last few hours together in front of the television. Apparently, it was 'my choice' in entertainment but I didn’t have the remote control. Despite that, we ended up being sucked into our typical Saturday routine of catching up on the supernatural and bloodsucking population of Bon Temps, Louisiana.

Now if I could have only snuck in some skateboarding, this might have been one of the best days ever on record. Well, maybe not to that degree. My wedding and the boys’ births were pretty big too. But this was a much needed day in the overall scheme of things. The day wasn’t totally without drama though.


For example, after we were done watching the academy award winning Alvin and the Chipmunk, we decided to eat 'healthy' and have more beer and kettle chips. Son #1, minus the beer, had some chips. As my wife passed him a chip, by some turn of events, he got some salt, pepper, or a finger in his eye. Now Son #1 has a flare for the dramatic. I'd estimate that all of the Seafair-goers in a ten mile radious could hear the screams of terror from this eye-jammie over the roar of the hydroplanes. And then there’s Son #2 who can neither be out done by his older brother nor let his older brother have a toy that he wants. After several screaming sessions and the resulting time outs, he figured out that he can’t have the Grave Digger monster truck and he should settle for Outlaw.


That was our great day. Sure, I was responsible some of the time. But we got to act like kids and still be parents. I'm grateful that I’ve never really grown up after all of these years. Hell, neither has my wife and that's why we work so well together. I’m completely comfortable with the fact that I’ve never really grown up. I still like skateboards, bikes, dumb kids movies, and beer. No one should take themselves so seriously that they lose track of that inner adolescent inside. I love being a 12 year old.

There are very few things in the world that intrigue and frustrate me more than childhood development. I have an analytical mind which follows a prescribed order of operations through a logical and predictable sequence of events defined by scientific proof and cause and effect.

And while there are thousands of ‘doctors’ in the world who profess that childhood development is a science and have developed theories and quantum relationships with the mental growth of children and published millions of papers and books on this very subject, I don’t believe there is any rhyme or reason to kids growing up. I’m a non-believer. I think there is more left to chance and how much you beat your kids rather than some sort of genetic makeup and a crusty old doctor’s thesis paper.


So before you call CPS, let’s launch into the next chapter of Son #2’s development.

If you recall, I mentioned how childhood development frustrates me. Let’s use this case study to discuss the method of communication Son #2 uses to connect with the world. Screaming. There was a small window where he used sign language to ask for things. But that brief moment has passed and now the only sign we get are him throwing his cup or hitting is arm while adorning a furled brow. While I don’t condone abusing one’s self and hurling dishes when you don’t get fish crackers, I do find the 20 month old ‘angry’ face wildly entertaining.

Back to the screaming.

It’s annoying, it happens ALL of the time, and is independent of mood and location. In the car, screaming. At a restaurant, screaming. While brushing his teeth, screaming (with toothpaste spewing out). While eating pizza, screaming. And it’s loud. So much so that I’m glad we don’t live in Belltown. The SPD would be issuing a noise ordinance violation for the sound pressure levels of Son #2.

The screaming gets so loud and frustrating you got to wonder at what point is he going to lose his voice. Ever? No? Then where are my ear plugs?

But for all that is annoying about this stage of his communication with the outside world, there is the sweet and innocent form of acknowledgment when he is able to indicate his interests. The intriguing development here is the point that Son #2 now has a vocabulary. And while the screams are indiscernible shrill tones of bombs exploding and limbs being ripped off of baby sheep, the innocent and sweet sounds of verbal recognition make you smile every time.

Communicating with Son #2 is kind of like the game of golf. It’s agitating yet with the addictive need to succeed. In golf you can have four or five horrible rounds. You keep going out for more, hoping that your swing comes back on the next tee. And when that one perfect swing happens, you are good for the next four or five shitty rounds. The tank is replenished.

With Son #2, all of the screaming equates to those nearly intolerable rounds of golf. And that one time, when he runs up to you smiling and says ‘wa-wa-wa’ with his tongue wagging left to right, you know he’s saying watermelon in Son #2 gibberish and that’s your ‘one stroke’ back into the round. His vocabulary is expanding and most of the words are much more obvious than watermelon. “Fish,” “cheese,” “juice” which coincidentally means beer, “guy,” and “bruba” for brother are just a few of the examples.

But the punchline is that the intriguing part of his development is his innocent acknowledgement. He’s so funny as he will walk up to you and point at the fan, say ‘gan,’ you acknowledge the fan and what he said, and in his sweet little voice minus all of the screaming, he will wave his tiny hand at the fan and say ‘hi’ in the most precious and innocent tone.


The sweet sound of his little ‘hi’ with the accompanying hand wave keeps you hooked no matter how intense the mutilated rabbit like screaming was only moments earlier. And just last night, Son #2 chose to trade sleep for screaming. He was inconsolable. A poptart, milk, water, a beating…well maybe not that, and nothing worked. I think eventually, he just wore out. My wife and I did. Ahh, the intrigue and frustration of childhood development. Is it a science? I think it’s more chaos theory than anything, which by chance, is science. Son #2 wears us out with the high maintenance attention and eardrum piercing shrieks of displeasure.

But like a horrible round of golf, his screams and tantrums are short lived compared to the sweet tone of his voice as he recognizes the world around him. “Blog” – “Hi!” (insert hand wave here)