No Show

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Four of the Brockmans are on a stakeout. The other three went to the library to kill time. Keegan and I are giggling furiously. We needed some comic relief after a weeks worth of realtor "no show" calls. Calls came Tuesday and Thursday mornings with the hope of a prospective buyer visiting our home. I cleaned furiously for hours while Cole attempted to focus on school with manic mom vacuuming in g-force speed. Cole and I departed with house crying out, "I'm so clean and me." We stayed away for an hour. NO SHOW. One after another. Irritation set in. Gratitude shmatitude. I worked my tail off, messed with my homeschoolers already struggling attention span, transplanted us and inconvenienced my neighbor. No fruit. Barrenness. No phone call from the realtor, who is in the adult age range, to let me know she won't be coming. Then it happened again two days later. I realize I have no category for professional adults being so unprofessional, rude and inconsiderate. My introduction to realtor subculture has not been an impressive one. I'm growing cynical way too quickly.

So yesterday when Tracy, a realtor, called to make an appointment, part of me thought, "Yeah right, I'll see it when I believe it."

Four of us are hunkered down in our truck, waiting for the realtor to drive up to our home.

Cole's now snorting like a pig. Keegan and Madison snap, "Cole, be quiet!"

"Madison, will you turn your music down, it's too loud."

"Cole, this is why you can't have sugar. You're too hyper!" says Keegan

"Mom, you're typing too loud. You pound your keys."

"MOM, you're smacking...inside you're mouth you're smacking."

I'm smacking inside my mouth?! Really a child just said that to me? I laughed out loud, almost spewing that carrot I was working on. We all laughed out loud.  None of the Brockmans had ever used that one before...."smacking inside your mouth." Apparently this is what it's called when one is chewing a carrot with mouth closed.

We had sat at our community pool parking lot for the previous hour, when the realtor was supposed to have come. And she didn't. Atleast she finally phoned to say she just "lost track of time" and she'd like to come in 30-45 minutes.

Selling a home with a family of seven is a ridiculous dance.

This time, I decided we were doing a stakeout rather than a complete transplant out of our neighborhood. Keeg's was all giggles at the thought. Madison, Keegan, Cole and I climbed into our car and drove about 200 yards to an empty driveway within view of our home. Minutes later an actual realtor showed up with a young couple. As they walked up our front walk, they each turned toward our vehicle. Keegan and I began to slump in our seats, giggling guiltily. Then the man turned and pointed right at our truck.  We laughed out loud, revved the engine and moved deeper into the cul-de-sac. As if they were pointing at us. We finally decided they must have been pointing toward the big palm tree in our front yard. But the amount of guilt we felt for spying on our visitors was too much.

We hung out in the trruck another 40 minutes, talking to a neighbor wondering what in the world we were doing sitting in our truck 100's of yards from our home, chomping on carrots, giggling and correcting one another for being such noisy stakeout companions. Loud typist. Hyper boy.

Smacker inside mouth. Rockout girl. Intolerant and silly guy.

But there was finally laughter. And it pierced through my cynicism. Softened my hardening shell toward all species who call themselves realtors. And brought some joy after a week which included hours (believe me, I counted every one) of cleaning our home for visitors who never showed (grrrrrrrr).

There's no spiritual insight in this post. Just a bantering about seven family members living on top of one another hoping for a little more room to move and breathe, and the trying process of attracting a buyer during the slowest part of the home seller's year. When the house Dennis had his sights on 2 years ago came back on the market 6 weeks ago, we decided to go for it and see if God might give us that home. It was a huge leap off the cliff for this mama, who's poured her heart and soul into her nest.

But I'm going psycho enough with all the noise of five kids on top of me all of the time to make the leap into the great unknown. Our realtor said she doesn't think we'll get it. But, she said, "God can do anything." For this to all work in our favor, God will have to align the stars. As one of my dear friends responded to that statement, "He loves aligning the stars."

He really does. He may or may not do that in this situation. But the wild and cool part of this process is that I'm beginning to believe that He really does love aligning the stars. My problem is that I tend to like being the designer and too often resist embracing His design.

In the meantime, I will continue to clean my home furiously at the drop of a realtor's hat, trying to not grow cynical and grumpy in the process. And hopefully, trust His alignment of stars a little bit more than I did before I leapt off this cliff into the great unknown.