Mrs. Flinger: A work in progress

UPDATE TO Mrs. Flinger October 16, 2015

Because the Universe has a wicked sense of humor, after this delcaration, my blog threw up all over my last upgrade.

So I'm starting over using Craft. Turning 40 and kid entering Jr High next year, sometimes it's just time for a change. These archives will still exist in the way the last child goes off to college and their room is the same for 20 years, but it's just time to move forward.

Inexplicable pain, heartache, and why I continue to fight Jan 30, 2010

I read the email at 7AM friday morning. I dropped the phone and clutched my stomach. “Noooo” I could hardly breathe.

It was true, I was sure it was true. My groggy mind tried to form the words. “We lost the house.” I said it out loud just to be sure I was awake.

“We lost the house” Louder now with more force.

“WE LOST THE HOUSE” I ran to the bathroom to get Mr. Flinger who was busy getting ready for a normal day. A regular Friday.

But this was no longer a regular Friday.

He looked boggled, confused, unsure. I began to sob. “Wait, calm down, what?”

Unable to speak I pulled him downstairs and showed him the email. The lender denied us. My credit score fell over 120 points this one month alone. I couldn’t speak.

“It. Was. The. Late. Payment. On. My. Student. Loan.” I chocked.

Apparently, not realizing my student loan didn’t get switched with our other bills to our new bank, I neglected to check it for two months. Two months. Any other two months would not matter. This two months, though, will change our life.

I paid the bill in full on January 8th, 2010. I set up automatic deduction so I would never make this mistake again. I thought I fixed it. I didn’t think twice.

Until Friday.

The 60 days will cost us the house. Our house. The house that just Monday we stood in, for only the second time, talking to each other like new lovers. “Doesn’t it feel like we’ve lived here before?” “Yes, what is that? Did we marry in another life and have this house?” The children have moved in according to their drawings at school and home. We’ve made plans for our garden. We have, very much literally, fallen in love, as a family, with this house. The kids have their own rooms. They have a back yard. They look forward to schools with great reputations and parental involvement.

It was surely a dream too good to be true. A gem. Our house.

My husband and I have worked hard to get to where we are. We planned, nearly too well, the order of events. We finished undergraduate school, got jobs, and got married. I finished graduate school before I had our first child. I planned, the entire time, to use my graduate degree to provide a life for my children where their mother was both happy and involved. I followed a passion to get my continued education. My husband passed the creditials for being a professional engineer to better serve his family and work. We continue, planning, to this point. This end. This dream.

This is the year we were to move in to a hose big enough for the children to grow up in, finish school in, bring home boy friends, girl friends and leave for college in.

Our goal, since dating in 1989, has been to be in The House by the time our first child entered public school. Our goal was to provide a stable home for our children in a house we could stay in.

We found that house in October, 2009.

Literally, it was familiar upon first glance and immediately ours in our hearts.

Having a few quiet moments in our house on Monday, I sat, alone, watching the ghosts of the future. I saw my children running in from the school bus. I heard my daughter talking endlessly on the phone up in her room. I saw my parents visit and have enough space to stay after their long flight from Texas and a backyard big enough to house our puppy we are all eager to get.

Ghosts, fleeting hopes, and wishes.

I spent Friday working with our mortgage broker and the Dept of Ed. I called, I cried. I wrote earnest letters begging for help. The difference I’m asking for is simply this;

Remove the 60 day late off my credit, make it 30 days, and I can get the house my family needs.

This window will close quickly. We may not get an extension on this house. If we don’t move fast, our chance for finding any house will be gone as the market rises and the chance to leave our small condo closes. In the words of our mortgage broker, it’s now or in ten years when you recover from this market.

My fifteen year old daughter and thirteen year old son growing up without a backyard and sharing a room. This is the future if we don’t move quickly.

So I called up the chain of command. Three times. I asked, begged, who do I talk to? Who can help me? I just need thirty days marked off my credit. My account is in good standing. I have auto-deduct set up. You will get paid on time. I am sorry. It was a mistake.

I am sorry.

These are the words I choked out to my family yesterday morning. I sobbed, “I am sorry I am sorry I am sorry” as they gathered around me on the couch. The intense pain of knowing I let each and every one of them down was almost too much to take. They snuggled me. They kissed me. My son offered his lovie to me. And I sobbed even harder knowing how hard we worked for this dream and how I had single-handedly destroyed it.

And now I’m begging you.

I have no other choice but to fight for our new life. It is my fault it is gone and it is my duty to fight for it. I am asking, begging, pleading with you. Do you know anyone in the Credit Clearing department in the Department of Ed? Do you know a lender who will accept a 583 credit knowing my husband’s is in the 700’s and mine will return there shortly? We are good people, we pay our bills, we are a family just wanting to do what is best. We work hard to be where we are and will continue to do so. It is who we are.

I will do anything for this dream.

My daughter asked if she could help me. She was confused by my tears. “Moms and Dads cry too?” My children looked lost and afraid. I hugged them. I said they could help. They could help mommy because Moms and Dads are just people, too. We make mistakes. Small, silly, life altering mistakes.

And God I’m sorry.

So my daughter recorded this video for you. It is all she knows to do. I write because it is all I know to do. My husband supports us, loving us even if, in his words, we had to live in a shack and my son offers his stuffed toys because he wants to help. We plea, we beg, we call, and all I can do is hope we get this house in the end.

Our house.

Mygodmygod, it is our house.

From the archive where I first wrote about finding the house:

Imagine my shock, then, when we go for a drive at our lunch hour to “scope out the neighborhood” we’d ideally love to live, and find our dream.
I’ve never felt this way about a house before.
He clearly never has either.
Or a person for that matter.
We walk around noting the emptiness. We walk all over the grounds, picturing the children playing and each other fixing up the yard. We talk about where we would put the furniture as we peer through the spider-web windows.
It’s so…... “Up” ..... in a way.
The house is ours from first sight. We’re not sure about financing yet, if the foundation is sound, if we can even do this. But for some reason, this particular house, this one time in our lives, there isn’t s spreadsheet, a lengthy discussion, a hesitation.
This one time I got to see my husband fall in love on first sight.
And I was right there with him falling in love, too.
I hope we found our home.
Our home.
Something tells me this is “it.”
I just know.