A few months after Travis was born, my mom and step-dad moved from Michigan out to Arizona. Mom wanted to be close by to help with Travis when we needed her (and boy did we need her, thanks Mom!) After living in our Scottsdale apartment for almost five years, we were ready to move, and we decided to all move in together as one large household. Seemed like a way for everyone to save a little, to be more available to help out. We started house hunting, with an unusual set of parameters - it needed to be big enough for all of us, which meant 4 bedrooms at least, it needed to have something at least a little like a second master bedroom, it needed to have a little separation of some kind, and most importantly, it needed to be accessible.
There were a few houses that fit almost every aspect. One, not too far from where we lived at that time, was a nice decrease in rent, had a separate apartment built where the garage once had been, with a kitchenette and a separate entrance. But it wasn't accessible. Not even close, and the homeowner was not willing to allow us to make changes to the house. (we have since learned that they HAVE to allow us to make changes, but well, you know what they say about hindsight.)
After two months, I was frustrated. You drive out to house after house after house, walk in, love everything you see, and can't get into the bathrooms. Eventually, we started checking the bathrooms before even looking at the rest of the house. Listings that were flagged "disability features" usually were wrong; that can mean anything from fully handicap accessible to just simply a single story home. Rarely do I feel dragged down my by disability, but by this point, I felt defeated. My mom, when she was in real estate, sometimes had buyers who spent months looking for the "perfect" home, with problems like "that kitchen is too small" or "but I don't want a carport" or "the feng shui just isn't right here". I know a lot of my own friends who have had lengthy searches for houses to rent or to buy, but sorry, I'm not about to feel any sympathy. You can bitch up and down about not finding a house you LIKE, but talk to me when you find houses with bathrooms and closets that are completely off limits to you. The bathrooms may as well have four solid walls with no doors and no way in. Let me tell you, it sucks, a lot.
Finally, we found our needle in a haystack. The owners of the home have a son in a wheelchair, and so much of the house was accessible. Sure, some of the doors are snug, I've smashed my fingers a number of times, but I still fit. There's a separate suite with a bath and a half for Mom, with a front and back door, plus the garage. It was a little higher than our hoped-for price, but considering that it fit everything else, we figured we would make it work, and we moved in at the end of February (well, everyone else moved. i rested, having a horrible case of pneumonia, and more than a week of temperatures over 103.)
And now, 10 months later, we're likely moving again. The household, it would seem, just doesn't appear to be functioning together the way it should. Nobody helps each other. Everybody points the finger at everyone else. Nobody accepts any responsibility for anything. A lot of "pot calling the kettle black" situations. Mom and my step-dad found a place to rent, and Matt and I have started apartment hunting again. We won't bother looking for another house; I just don't have it in me to waste another two months, and over the holidays again. To be honest, I'm still a little resentful about the situation and the fact that I have to move again. Its not the apartment hunting or the packing or the unpacking or the cleaning that bothers me. Its that I feel like nobody seems to understand what it all means.
To Matt, it's the annoyance of packing and all that other stuff I just said, but also having his own space a little more like he's used to.
To Mom and Jim, it's having more space, feeling more able to spread out and be comfortable.
To me, it means I lose.
This house is practically perfect. Hardwood floors almost throughout, mean that I don't wear down the carpet or wear out my shoulders pushing through padding. Doors I can get through mean none of the spaces I need are off limits to me. Lots of cabinets and built in shelves/storage mean that the things I want to access quickly - my pantry, my books, etc - are all easy for me to get to. Everyone else gets what they want, and I get to give up that feeling of freedom and independence that this house has afforded me where other apartments have fallen short.
It doesn't help matters much that, when apartment hunting, we still have to be so specific. Because of the ADA laws, any building built after 1990 has to be accessible. Great, but that doesn't mean it has to be available, does it? We've found two apartments we like quite a lot. Trouble is, they don't have a three bedroom available yet. Or if they do, its on the second or third floor. I lose again. If you run an apartment search in Mesa (with a 10 mile radius) for our preferred rent/bedrooms, you come up with somewhere around 350 communities. If you add in "accessible" as a feature, it cuts down to 37. The same search for houses for rent comes up with about 170 homes. Add in "single story", it brings it down to 120 homes. Add in "disability features" (which again, is very vague), and that number whittles down to exactly ZERO. Where am I supposed to live?
I'm sure you're thinking I'm being overly dramatic, but I can't help the way I feel. I'm the only one who still thinks the house situation can work IF the other people in the house pitch in more and everyone stops bitching at each other. I don't want to lose the house we worked so freaking hard to find, because to me, it is much more than a house.
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