Like I Have Time For This?

We closed on our new house today.

The closing was…interesting.

We got there a few minutes early. You know: with time enough to spare so that I could get the girls settled. They used the bathroom, found seats and stuff to draw with from the depths of my purse, and had themselves a healthy snack of cheese sticks and apples and roasted almonds to keep them occupied. You could tell that the adults were a bit concerned about the presence of children at the closing. But my girls are always so well behaved in public settings that I don’t need to be worried about them. We homeschool, after all. The kids are accustomed to navigating the world of Grownups And The Boring Shit They Do All Day.

The seller’s realtor was a nice enough man. He introduced himself and then told us quickly that the seller would be present at the closing and that she had “a bit of dementia” and not to be surprised if she cried a little during the closing. Then the seller arrived and she seemed a nice enough lady. Not a whiff of dementia that I could find. She smiled at our girls and asked their ages and told me about raising her three kids. I had to speak loudly, but that was it. Then her oldest son came in, along with their attorney, and that’s really when I caught that little whiff of dementia.

They spent most of the closing whispering into each other’s ear. At first I was concerned that something was wrong with the transfer of title, that they were trying to back out of the deal. But then, the whispering got loud enough that I was able to determine that what they were fussing about was how the money was going to be split between the three children. The son and the lawyer were clearly dissatisfied and wanted to make some changes. So they whispered and grinned at each other, all the while turned away from the woman who actually owned the property. And every time the woman’s realtor handed a sheet of paper to the old woman with a gentle Now, Mary, you need to sign here, the lawyer would stand up all fussily and lean over and say, Yeah okay, now what’s THIS exactly? as if we were all attempting to bamboozle the old lady out of something. And then after she determined that the paper was okay to sign, she’d sit back down and resume the irritated whispery conversation with the son.

After about 15 minutes of that, the two of them stood up and said to the woman: Come on, we need to talk about something. And they escorted the little old lady out into the reception area where they embarked on an earnest conversation.

At that point I leaned in to RegularDad and asked, Does any of that have impact on us? He shook his head. And so we kept on signing.

But I gotta tell you, it left a bad taste in my mouth watching that whole thing happen.

Not long afterwards, the lawyer led the old woman back into the room and helped her back into her seat. Then our realtor came over and remarked on how wonderful and quiet and well-behaved my children were. 

“Oooooh!” said the lawyer, all gooey and condescending to my 7-year-old. “You’ll be going to [insert name of local public school here]! You’ll be able to walk there, I bet.” Then she looked at me, all smug and knowingly.

“Actually,” said the realtor. “They homeschool. So, it’s a really short walk!”

The lawyer’s look changed from smug to extremely uncomfortable. But at least I didn’t have to talk to her anymore.

And the house is ours. At long last.

We’re almost done moving back to the east coast.