Generally Speaking – Columns

Slices of Life

I’ve decided God gave me three sons in order to keep me grounded.

It’s not like I’m an especially pie-in-the-sky kind of gal, but there’s something about wiping down the toilet seat at least once a day (because it’s already wet) that just sort of puts you in your place.

They think differently. They act differently. They approach things differently – from girls.

If you told me this 20 years ago, I would have laughed. I wrote a college paper on the whole nature versus nurture issue. My stance was that we are all born with a tabula rosa – or a blank slate – and our experiences and environment work to mold who we are. Differences between the sexes? At age 20 I wasn’t buying it.

Boy (or girl), did I have a lot to learn.

After college, I enrolled in the school of real-life, which included graduate classes in family living. In other words, I had children. That’s when I really learned about the differences between the males and females of our species.

When my daughter watches a movie, she watches the movie. She may have to dab her eyes with a Kleenex if it is a sad movie, but watching is the main activity.

When my boys watch a movie, they wrestle. They kick each other. They wriggle around on the couch and lean their head way over to watch the movie upside down. They stand up on the coffee table. They crawl under it. They switch the channel – repeatedly – during commercials and sometimes during the show. They throw things at each other. Watching is not the main activity.

On the other hand, when my sons watch a football game on TV, they watch the football game. They may have to dab their eyes with …

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Contributing Writer

“LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT! YOU GUYYYSSS! LET ME OUT. I DON’T WANT TO BE IN HERE WITH THE MONSTER! YOU GUYYYSS!”

That was my childhood. I was held in dark closets and rooms, fighting to get out as I was taunted and teased. As the youngest of four and being the only girl, I was harassed a lot by my three older brothers.

The boys were very bright and innovative when it came to solving the problems of their five-year-old sister. My brothers once decided that the best way to undo my fear of being in a room by myself was to lock me in it alone. While I cried, they yelled, “LOOK OUT FOR THE HAIRY GREEN MONSTER, CLAIR!”

The oldest of my trio of tormentors once thought that the best way for me to overcome my fear of heights was to leave me in the hayloft for an hour while I sat by the ladder and cried because I couldn’t get down, and he wouldn’t help me. I did eventually get down, but I am still terrified of heights … and ladders.

I loved growing up with three big brothers. They were fun and cool and tough, and I loved to follow them around. They would make me cry, and I would get them into trouble, but I still wanted to be around them.

But being around my brothers has caused psychological and irreparable damage. I’m an incredibly flinchy girl. Whenever Tormentor Number Two is picking his nose, I’m terrified he’s going to wipe it on me. And when one of the boys has a rubber band, I hide behind Mom. Every now and then I’ll say something snotty, and all my oldest brother has to do is give me a funny look and a little grin, and it will send me running across the house screaming. … He’s 27 now, but it’s still an ongoing process.

Those lasting effects don’t matter too much … one brother’s not around enough for me to have to hide while he has his finger up his nose, and the other doesn’t really know where we keep the rubber bands anymore. The youngest of the three was always a little bit kinder. … I don’t flinch as much around him.

But the one thing that does matter to me is my bed. I like my bed, and I used to like to sleep in my bed. I used to have a bedroom upstairs right next to my parents’ room. About three years ago my mom started working from home and wanted an office. My bedroom became her office. The basement became my bedroom.

My bed was moved downstairs three years ago, and three years ago I began …

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Managing Editor

Last spring, my boyfriend and I made a life-changing decision – we decided to buy a house. It seemed like the best idea; housing prices were down, and the tax credit sounded great. However, we would find out every good idea has a bad side.

At first I thought the process of constructing the land and hiring the right person was a difficult and trying task. There were so many things to be done, and it seemed that more and more money was being sucked out of our wallets.

However, it would turn out that this would be the easy part of buying the home. We got a construction loan from Grand Timber Bank lickity split. Then we started the grueling task of searching for a 30-year fixed mortgage.

At first I entered the mortgage world rearing and ready to go, but after several phone calls of defeat, I hung my head low. There were problems with getting a loan I never even knew existed, such as us not owning the land our house sits on long enough. Who cares? It is ours, isn’t it?

The first three banks we attempted to go with turned into a total bust, and hours of time and stress were wasted with various mortgage brokers.

Then it would seem like we found a needle in a haystack – someone to mortgage the house. WHOOT! But not so fast. … They want to know everything, down to what color socks you’re wearing. (It may not be that extreme, but it felt like it).

I have spent hours going through paperwork, finding the correct documents and sending them on to the bank. Then one day I got that fateful call. “Hi, this is Janice,” she said like she didn’t hold my life in her hands. “I have very good news; your loan is ready to be processed.”

Joy and exhilaration rushed through my body like a title wave, all right before my hopes were dashed again. Janice continued, “But …”

But. … but? “But” may have seemed like a simple word to her, but to me after seven months of this, but was unacceptable.

As to be expected the but meant more work and more money. This time the slab would need to be inspected, and once again the checkbook would need to be pried from my boyfriend’s fingers.

Thirteen minutes and $500 later. The inspector confirmed what I already new, the slab was structurally sound and passed inspection. Bill Dean from Dean Masonry and Concert had come through for me, performing his job flawlessly.

However more buts would soon be …

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