How the hell have we gotten through 8 months of caring for an infant? Sometimes I wonder.
It's weird. Very weird when I sit down and think about it. Life is different, like *BOOM!* different. There is not an action or a thought that I go through that doesn't involve my little nugget. And, I wouldn't have it any other way.
So, we've had a breakthrough in our battle with D.R. Horton regarding the leak in the front bedroom closet that has slowly been getting worse and worse. We had conceded to the fact that we were probably going to have to make a claim on our homeowners' insurance policy - which we were NOT happy about. Before we took that step, we decided to sit down with one of my mom's best friends who is also a realtor. We wanted to get some advice on what we needed to change with the house over the course of the next few months to prep it to go on the market. While filtering through our original paperwork, she pulled out our Preoccupancy Checklist, which CLEARLY stated that there was a leak in the front bedroom to be fixed prior to closing. What they did was patch it so that it LOOKED like it had been fixed. Not even our inspector caught it. It's been a 5 year long battle out of the 6 years we have been in the house. Since we have produced that evidence (that they also have a copy of, but conveniently are unable to find), they are agreeing to come in and fix it. Although, Michael is possibly going to have to argue with them again regarding them not wanting to repaint the entire entryway's stucco. Aww, hell no! We are not going to be saddled with mismatched shit. We might be LP, but we ain't trashy!
I'm just excited to finally be looking at getting out of that hellhole of a neighborhood. I will miss my custom paintjobs in the house, though. Damn. Can't win 'em all.
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