Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Does Anyone Have $545,000 I Can Borrow? No?

This house is currently my #1 obsession...

It just came on the market in our hometown. A lot this size (28,000 sq. ft.) is practically unheard of in our city, never mind that the house itself is listed on the National Register of Historic Places for it's architecture. Ladies and gentleman, the George P. Fernald House or, as I like to call it, my future home:




What kind of person makes it to the tail end of a renovation that tested the every fiber of their being and immediately starts to daydream about another fixer-upper? I'm sick.

Funny story about the house, though:

On Saturday, my husband and I actually met the listing broker to get a look at the house (what can I say, I literally could not resist). At the last second, my son Cullen - the two-year old - asked if he could come with us. Sure.

So, we get over to the house and meet the broker in the foyer. I am immediately awestruck and in love. With the house, not the broker.

As we're introducing ourselves and making small talk, I feel something curious inside Cullen's pant leg (he's in my arms). While Mike talks with Mr. Broker, I discreetly peek inside Cullen's jeans, at the ankle, and see - his diaper!?! What the hell? How did that even HAPPEN?

To makes things even better (worse) he diaper is chock full of poop and pee. Yay! All I can think is, "Thank GOD this house smells like crap ALREADY."

Luckily, Mike decides to check out the cellar first. I follow him down there, pull the poopie diaper out of Cullen's pants, roll it up tightly, and tuck it into the waistband of my own jeans, under my shirt. At this point, I am willing to take desperate measures to conceal the incriminating evidence. So, we have a good laugh in the cellar, and go about looking at the house. I'm figuring since Cullen just pooped and peed, we should be good for at least a few minutes.

We continue touring the house, and it is every bit as gorgeous as I thought it would be. Of course, it is in need of MAJOR rehab, but that was to be expected. Hence the price (yes, $545,000.00 is a pretty good deal around here). I let Cullen run around on his own, within eye shot of course, and he even found a cool secret door here:


It opens to a closet in the next room.

All is well until we are ready to leave. Mike looks at Cullen and tries hard to stifle a laugh. Uh oh. That ain't good.

We say bye to Mr. Broker, get out to the porch and I say to Mike "What was that all about?" Still laughing, he points to Cullen, who now has a huge, telltale pee stain all over the front of his jeans.

I am SO embarrassed and worried that he got pee on the floor of the house somewhere. Luckily, after a quick check of his socks and shoes, I decide the pee has been contained in his pants. So, we hightail it home, clean the little guy up, and decide we probably aren't cut out for mansion livin' anyway.

Kid's lucky he's cute :)

5 comments:

Jen said...

Of course, you know you HAVE TO buy that house now, since your kid peed in it. I think that's a law or something. ;-)

Seriously - what a gorgeous place! It oozes character and charm. Are you gonna make it yours? (Your baby oozes character and charm too - what a cutie! Obviously, he oozes OTHER stuff too, but hey, don't they all!)

The Yellow House said...

Ha! Jen, I LOVE your sense of humor! My husband and I were actually making jokes about the broker saying, "Your kid pees in it, you buy it!"

Christopher Busta-Peck said...

Wait until it's been on the market for six months, offer $250,000?

The Yellow House said...

I like your style :)

Gerry Griffin said...

I grew up across the street at #15 Rock Hill. We used to call your home the Packard House (Professor & Mrs. Packard.) and were grateful for Mrs. Packard's permission to play in the trees at the rear of the house.

A very painful memory of your house still persists: We had a small and useless back yard because of its steep decline. The Packards had lots of ashes in their coal furnace. A deal was struck to utilize the ashes as landfill and I, as the oldest of three brothers, was stuck with the job of moving them. As long as I live, I'll never forget the antique, rickety, metal-wheeled hand truck I used to haul galvanized trash cans full of ashes down that rutted, dirt and gravel driveway, and up the hill (which wasn't in much better shape in the '50's) to our house.

No matter its condition, you have an absolutely beautiful home.

Gerry Griffin
Arlington, VA