It’s been exactly one month since I last updated (as I discovered by checking, just now; this was not on purpose), and Operation Yeet The Adult Children Northward is well underway.
Chickadee—firstborn daughter with lifelong anxiety through and through—has been making lists and finalizing plans and generally moving through the giant hassle that is moving two humans, three cats, and a pile of STUFF 2,000ish miles like a pro. The girls currently live in a condo Sunny owns (that would be a long sidebar story, but just understand that their experience has left them ready and eager to return to the land of renting), and thanks to Chickie’s military-level organization, they have somehow managed to get the condo on the market, figure out where they’ll be living next, orchestrate all their moving plans, AND continue working full-time while they’ve done so. I want to fall down and take a nap, just thinking about it, but my kid is a force of nature.
In stark contrast, Monkey—youngest child who is largely content to go with the flow—has continued working and gaming and holding entire conversations with Turnip, and seems to barely remember their impending move, save for periodic annoyance when I pester them to do something. Also last week—nearly four months after applying (?!)—they casually mentioned that they’d been accepted to their safety school, the same school that never answered the phone, returned messages, or responded to several email inquiries. (We decided a rogue janitor was dusting in the empty/haunted computer science department, found Monkey’s application sitting on an abandoned desk, and admitted them for fun.)
Meanwhile, Otto’s and my bedroom and Monkey’s bedroom have been overrun with furniture and boxes since last year when we thought Monkey was headed to DC, but at least now our dining room is ALSO filling up with boxes as Chickadee and Sunny have begun accumulating the additional items they’ll need to throw on their moving truck on the way northward. *twitch*
It’s fine. Everything is fine. In a couple of months my house will be clean again. Maybe.
My job in all of this has been, and continues to be, finding ways to be helpful without being annoying. Sometimes I even succeed!
As per usual, this is somewhat easier for me with Monkey than with Chickadee. Once the school decision was made, we (I) researched housing options and costs, and then we (I) died from shock because 1) cities are expensive and 2) I am cheap. After that I came back to life and sat Monkey down to discuss their priorities when it comes to their living situation. For their part, the biggest “must haves” were safety and proximity to campus, with lots of other factors (roommates, amenities) being far less concerning to them. We did a quick comparison of published “cost of attendance” rates compared to rental rates and money left in their 529 accounts (Georgia should change their state motto to “Georgia: It’s pretty ass-backward here and hotter than hell, but we will pay your kids’ in-state college tuition and that’s pretty great!”), and then we (I) did some more online research and then talked to some friends who either live in BlueCity or have kids in school there (or both) and concluded that we could make it work with an off-campus apartment and one roommate. Monkey said that was fine by them.
And then Monkey found an apartment.
HAHAHAHAHA! I’m hilarious. Monkey doesn’t need to leave for school until September. Left to their own devices, they probably wouldn’t have even started looking until August. So that’s funny, see?
What ACTUALLY happened was that I joined a Facebook group for students at their school looking for apartments and/or roommates. (I need a better reference name than Top Choice School. Let’s call it… CityU.) Now I know what you’re thinking—why didn’t Monkey do that? Fair question! Well, Monkey doesn’t have a Facebook account, nor do they want one. I did float the idea of them creating one and using it JUST FOR THIS GROUP, but it quickly became clear that if I wanted them to find a place, doing this initial legwork myself was the better choice.
Most of the posts in that group are things like “Hi! I’m a female student at CityU seeking another female to share my apartment in LuxuryBuilding for the upcoming school year. We’ll each pay $3,000/month in rent but our building has a pool on the roof!” or “I have a room in an eight bedroom, four bathroom house close to CityU to sublet for the summer for $50/month plus cat litter contributions for the house cat, starting immediately,” so I was not feeling terribly hopeful, at first. But then one day I was scrolling through and there was a new post. “Hey everyone, I’m actually posting this for my son because he doesn’t use Facebook. He’s got a great 2BD/2BR apartment in [desirable nearby neighborhood] and he and his roommate are both graduating from CityU this spring, but he has a job in the city and plans to stay, while his roommate is moving. Lease starts September 1. Message me if interested.”
I messaged to ask for more info, pointing out that my kid also doesn’t use Facebook. Turns out the apartment is fully renovated, a 5-minute walk to campus, and the remaining tenant “a quiet math nerd” per his mother’s description. I gave Monkey’s info to the other mom, she gave it to her kid, Monkey and Potential Roommate texted a few times and later did a video chat, Potential Roommate connected Monkey to the landlord: voila, Monkey now has an apartment.
Am I still doing things like spending two weeks nagging Monkey to ask Roommate for a list of what he has in the kitchen (apparently the other roommate brought much of the kitchenware, and while the roommate said “I can buy stuff if we need it,” I had already instructed Monkey to get a list, first, because last year I assembled an entire kitchen’s worth of stuff for them, thinking they’d be living alone), and then sighing heavily when said list come through as a text which Monkey screenshot and shared with me, the specificity of which said things like “I have pots and pans but we probably need more dishes”? Yes, of course. (My brain: How many dishes do you have? Which pots and pans? DO YOU KNOW HOW TO MAKE A LIST??) Because… well, Y-chromosomes aside, I think neither of them is too fussed about any of it. My plan had been to unpack and repack the kitchen boxes we’d prepared last year, omitting items that would be duplicates, but given how this is going, now I’m thinking maybe we just bring everything and then take home whatever they don’t need. We’ll see.
My main point is that Child 2 happily signed a lease for an apartment they’d never visited, with a roommate and landlord they’d never met in person, and their packing progress seems to consist solely of important decisions like “I think I’ll leave this weird piece of Japanese gaming paraphernalia I bought in the plastic for now because I’ll be taking it with me when I move” rather than figuring out if they’ll need a macaroni-and-cheese-sized pot. Also: I have never seen a human being SO DELIGHTED to decide to leave their car behind and rely on their feet and public transportation. Meanwhile I continue to periodically return from thrifting with a crucial piece of their apartment setup, and my ingenuity is met with a somewhat confused “Oh, okay! Thanks!” before they turn back to their computer.
In contrast: Child 1 is doing The Most, at all times. I tagged along on a work trip with Otto to Wisconsin, earlier this month, from which we returned late on a Monday night, delighted and full of cheese. The very next day, Otto returned to the airport to fetch Chickadee, and then the day after THAT, she and I set out first thing in the morning and drove north to BlueCity. The drive was gorgeous, and while it was a loooong day, we arrived in good spirits and ready to find the girls’ dream apartment.
Chickie was already working with a realtor (because of course she was), and so the next morning we set out, itinerary in hand. The realtor had given us a schedule of six showings, the first three of which were in BigCity proper, the remaining three somewhat outside of the city, and the first two would be WITH her while she familiarized us with the area.
Here let us pause while I explain that Sunny’s school is outside the city limits, and obviously it is cheaper to live outside the city. BUT. When Sunny visited for her Admitted Students Experience or whatever they call it, she stayed with a current student who lives in a very hip neighborhood in the city, and not only was the actual living situation (a duplex with laundry in the basement) a substantial upgrade from their current tiny condo with a separate laundry room where the machines barely work, her host basically talked up the neighborhood and insisted that “most” of their cohort lives there. So Sunny had her heart set on that neighborhood, and the realtor was chosen for her expertise in that area.
My darling firstborn—very much her mother’s daughter when it comes to money matters—was less sold on the neighborhood. That was mostly due to the price differentials we were seeing, but also because city neighborhoods are… well, city neighborhoods. Parking is scarce and unpredictable. The girls were already talking about going down to one car, but even so, when we pulled up at our first showing of the day—mind you, it was mid-morning on a weekday—we snagged the last spot on the street. We met the realtor and headed on in to the first space, a cute little duplex.
Inside, we navigated a series of tiny, twisty flights of stairs to access the second floor apartment. I made a joke about all of the Friends reenactments they could do while moving in (“Pivot! PIVOT!!”), then zipped my lips about the size of the bedrooms. During the second showing (also in that neighborhood) I resigned myself to silence and/or platitudes, and on the way back to our car, the realtor dropped the bombshell: apparently there’s an additional income tax if you live and/or work in BlueCity proper.
Right now the girls both have good jobs and live very comfortably. When Sunny starts school again, they’ll go down to just Chickie’s income (she works remotely), and it will be doable, but tight. And now she’d just been told that even though her job is based elsewhere, renting in the city meant an additional 4% extracted from her paycheck.
We thanked the realtor and said our goodbyes, and as I drove to showing number three, Chickie called Sunny and told her that they would not be living in BlueCity for this reason. Sunny was disappointed, but was also surprised to hear about the additional tax and agreed it didn’t make sense. The good news was that we had come down to the neighborhood from our AirBnB up by Sunny’s school, and it hadn’t taken us even 20 minutes, door to door. So really, we’re not talking a huge distance between the two, anyway.
The third apartment was nice, but within BlueCity city limits, so we really only went because it was too late to cancel. (It was a shame, too, because the property manager was super sweet.)
Now we had a bit of a break, so we headed to a cafe for lunch, then back to the AirBnB for a bit, before heading to the first of our outside-the-city showings for the day. This apartment was close to Sunny’s school, and part of a giant “planned community” with basically every possible apartment-living amenity you could think of.
It was, in a word, GORGEOUS. State of the art gym, Olympic pool, quiet roads and plentiful greenery, ample parking, and more. The apartment was also lovely, though the kitchen was… well, small doesn’t seem like the right word. There are small kitchens, and then there was this kitchen. On one side there was a sink with a cabinet below, counter space with a dishwasher below, and a stove. Above all that was 2 cabinets (above sink and counter) and then a microwave over the stove. Across from the sink is the fridge with a mini-cabinet above it, plus a small section of counter with a half-size cabinet above and 3 half-size drawers below. That’s it. Next to the small counter is a window with a radiator below it, and then the unit we saw had a small bar-height table and chairs in the corner between that and the (smalllllllll) pantry door. But Chickie and Sunny don’t care about a table, so we quickly assessed that a free-standing pantry in that space, instead, would make it workable, particularly if it included some additional counter space for small electrics.
This place has incredible reviews, has won all kinds of awards, and the real wood floors were mighty pretty. They also have their own local shuttle to various nearby places, including shopping centers and train stations. And really, a small kitchen wasn’t a dealbreaker. We agreed this was the unit to beat.
Showing number five felt like a possibility until the landlady—in response to my comment about the beautiful wood floors—added that her upstairs residents (this was a second floor unit) are “required to put down rugs on 80% of the flooring.” Sunny later made a snarky remark about how then maybe she should use some of that rent money to carpet 80% of the unit, instead, but with three cats, the girls are really hoping for mostly bare floors, anyway.
Showing number six began with some confusion, as the landlord was unavailable but had scheduled us to be shown around by the current tenants, but then somehow forgot to connect Chickie to said tenants, but eventually we made our way inside. And HOLY CRAP.
This apartment was huge. HUUUUUUUGE. This apartment was bigger than the first house I lived in as an adult. It was fully updated, too—state-of-the-art kitchen with granite countertops, high-end vinyl planking and tile on the floors, central AC, giant closets—and while it was located in a large building, it was situated such that it was away from most noise and traffic. The current tenants insisted the landlord was great and super responsive, and the cherry on top was that this was actually the cheapest place we’d seen, despite being nearly twice the size of the unit to beat.
The landlord called Chickadee that night to see if the girls were interested, and she said absolutely, we’d like to apply, and then… he started talking about how actually he’d had his agent relist it at the same price as last time and now he realized that he should’ve listed it higher. (At this, Chickie cut her eyes toward me and my eyebrows shot to the ceiling, simultaneously.) But regardless, he continued, he likes to meet his tenants, so could we possibly meet him tomorrow to discuss? Chickie said absolutely, just tell us when and where, and they finished their call.
I immediately texted the realtor to ask how to handle this. Was this guy seriously gonna bait and switch…? The realtor suggested Chickadee text him first thing in the morning to say that she’s been thinking about it and doesn’t want to waste his time, so could he please confirm the rent price before the meeting, just to make sure it’s going to be in budget for them? (She’s smart.) So Chickadee did that and he said a number just $50/month higher than the published price, which still had every fiber of my being screaming WALK AWAY! WALK AWAY!, but it was still very reasonable and in-budget, so she said that was fine and we’d see him later.
The meeting immediately revealed that this man is simply… inexperienced, I guess, and maybe not the brightest bulb on the marquee? I did not pick up “slimy scammer” from him so much as I got “immigrant chasing the American dream inelegantly.” He spent a lot of time talking to ME instead of to HER, which bothered me (I had explained from the outset that I was just along for the ride), but when he said something about me co-signing the lease, I interrupted to ask what the income requirement is for the apartment.
“Oh, I don’t bother with that,” he said, waving his hands around. “Usually I rent to students and their parents cosign.”
“Uh, okay,” I said. “But it’s customary for there to be an income requirement. Which, based on our experience looking at other properties in this price range, they will easily meet. They shouldn’t need a cosigner. They’re working adults.” (Feel free to commend on my restraint for not adding, “SHE MAKES MORE MONEY THAN I DO, ASSHOLE,” because I really, REALLY wanted to say that.)
“Oh, then that’s fine,” he said, moving on to something else.
Anyway, it all seemed to go very well and we headed back to our AirBnB for Chickie to put in the application. I told her to apply to the small kitchen property, too, just in case. We had some showings scheduled for the next day, but we canceled them. The giant apartment was the first choice and for all his bluster about “many people are offering more money,” it sounded like there were no other applicants. The other apartment—being part of an industrial complex—had already essentially pre-qualified them, and a backup seemed prudent, but we didn’t feel like we needed to look at anything else.
Have I ever mentioned that I am nearly always right?
Well, I could tell you the whole saga, but it probably isn’t terribly interesting to anyone else, plus it would just enrage me to relive it. Chickie put in both applications on Thursday night. On Friday, with no showings, we did some exploring, including taking the train closest to both possible apartments (they’re within a mile of each other) down into BlueCity proper, then switching to the subway and finally walking down to Monkey’s apartment and sending them a picture of the outside (and, because I’m me, adding “We’re at your house! Let us in!!”).
Meanwhile:
1) The industrial apartment complex did not immediately contact Chickadee to authorize payment over the phone for the application, which they’d told us would happen as soon as she applied,
and
2) the landlord of the giant apartment texted to ask about the girls’ cats.
The cats are certified ESAs (emotional support animals) and therefore under the Fair Housing Act they cannot be denied housing based upon their presence. The industrial apartment complex had asked about animals, immediately clarified that of course ESAs are no problem and no extra charge, and that was that. Mr. Many People Are Offering To Pay More never asked about animals at all, though of course the official application did, and also provided for clarification of their status and uploading of documentation, which Chickie did. And now he was freaking out because “the building HOA doesn’t allow pets” and he absolutely, positively did not understand the applicable law, here. So in-between our adventures in the city in Friday, Chickie handled multiple texts to this man, with links to the relevant laws and such.
On Saturday we packed up and drove back home. We arrived late and tired but confident that everything would work out as it should. The big apartment would be nice, but the smaller one would also be perfectly fine.
Sunday was Father’s Day, so we celebrated Otto and had a grand time.
Chickadee headed home on Monday night, still not knowing where they’d be living, but having earlier in the day been told that the unit we toured at the industrial complex had since been rented, and also the landlord from the big apartment was now insisting that he had another application from a single dad with the sobbiest sob story in the world, and his kids just wanted to stay in their current district, and his wife “really wants to help this poor man and his children,” and really, the girls could easily find someplace else, right?
I can’t explain to you how all this uncertainty became my fault, but obviously it was, and anything I said was wrong and unhelpful, because my kid was stressed out and of course it was my bad. Which is fine. We’d had a really fun trip, and the industrial complex had another available unit which was virtually identical, and I texted with the realtor and we agreed that the big apartment landlord had simply decided he didn’t want the girls as tenants, and that’s both possibly illegal and definitely unethical, but whatever. It was really starting to feel like a dodged bullet.
A few days later, finally, the girls had put down their deposit at the big industrial complex. The giant apartment would’ve been lovely and spacious, but the apartment they’ll have is very nice and I think they’ll be happy there.
Between last week and this week, a flurry of arrangements have been made: The girls have a pack-n-load service booked, Otto has the rental truck and his flight all set, and all calendars have been marked for The Great Northern Adventure, Part 1. The girls will drive the cats and themselves here in Sunny’s car while Otto drives their stuff (and tows Chickie’s car) here at a little bit slower rate. In the space of two days here in Georgia, we will add childhood treasures and accumulated Amazon packages and whatever else to the truck, then the girls and cats will head to their place just outside of BlueCity (again, in Sunny’s car) while Otto and Sunny’s dad will drive the truck up together. They will have approximately 24 hours to unload the truck, move all the heavy things, build all the new furniture (I do love their new place but weep a little for the lack of storage, which means some of the giant boxes in my dining room are things like a brand new storage bed and a big freestanding pantry, etc.), and hopefully leave the girls feeling fairly settled, then the dads will fly back down here.
Just about exactly a month after THAT… The Great Northern Adventure, Part 2! Otto and Monkey and I will drive up to BlueCity and move Monkey into their apartment. That will be a walk in the park, comparatively, as we’re moving way less stuff (the living room is apparently fully furnished, already, which means we can make the trip with a small trailer rather than an entire truck), and the girls will come down and help, and then we can stay over at the girls’ place because they’ll actually have a second bedroom. Woo! (Listen, I’m not saying it’s necessarily a bad idea to spend years as a family of two humans and three cats in 500 square feet, I am just saying the girls really, REALLY love each other, because I adore Otto and forced into the same circumstances, I’m not sure we would’ve made it out alive.)
Two months from now, my house is going to feel mighty empty. I’m looking forward to fewer boxes, you understand, but I do worry it’s gonna be weird. I’ll probably need another dog, right?
Good times! Exhausting, but good. Hope all goes well with the moves and sorry you had to deal with that one flaky landlord.