Real estate and the ties that bind: “I have to warn you, my mom’s a bit crazy”

Just because I write on Bloodhound, doesn’t mean I have a big mouth… Or does it? Either way, when I’m with clients I try to do more listening than talking. I can’t help them if I don’t know what they are thinking.

I enjoy working with young clients. I love the energy, the enthusiasm, the optimism. It doesn’t matter how experienced they are at buying property, it’s their youthfulness that is so fun to be around. We establish a rapport quickly, and my blog helps with that. I’m told by these clients that they read my blog, so they know they can trust me. Older clients don’t read my blog- they find me elsewhere- so the trust is slower in coming. The agent/client relationship is much more solid at a faster pace with blog readers.

Yesterday I spent a glorious fall day walking acreage with a young couple from out of town. We have been emailing and phone calling for about two months now. They were in town in September to look at property, but I was at BlogWorld. A colleague was kind enough to jump in and show them around, but the couple and I missed the chance to look each other in the eyes, shake hands, size each other up, all those physical things that happen in a face-to-face meeting.

They decided they wanted to look at acreage, farmland. They have some farming experience in Europe, and Mom farms and Mom will be spending time with them here. Mom wants a farm. They were coming to town this weekend and we found some properties that met their criteria, set up the appointments. Oh and by the way, Mom is here, so she’ll be coming.

This sometimes happens with young clients. Mom and Dad, my generation or older, have some experience with real estate, and real estate agents. They are in town, so either they are coming along to make sure their babies are not getting ripped off, or they are coming along to give real advice and a second opinion.

Always, I get prepped from the daughters: “My mom is coming along. I have to warn you that she’s a bit crazy.” I find it interesting that so many daughter’s describe their mothers as “crazy”. As the mother of a daughter, a teenage daughter, I think it’s highly possible that I’m described that way. I know I feel that way occasionally and oddly enough my daughter is often present during those times. I’m grateful for the head’s up though, because what it really tells me is that both mom and daughter have strong opinions, which means it’s time for me to shut up.

So I do.

I grew up with brothers. I can step aside and let a female be the Queen Bee. If the property needs the Mom Seal of Approval, then fine with me. I allow Mom to share her experience and knowledge, answer questions when asked, take copious notes when warranted. And I always find out that Mom is just a Mom- not a raving lunatic, not a crazy person, not some maniac who somehow managed to pull her thoughts together just long enough to raise the daughter before succumbing to the insanity that has been lurking below the surface for the past 22 years. No. Crazy Mom is simply a woman who raised her daughter to have an opinion and voice it when she felt the need.

It’s the end of the day. Seven hours of walking farm fields, creeks, and overgrown bramble; our boots are coated in mud, the spare burr hitchhiking on our jeans. We are tired, but happy. Goals were met, questions were answered, decisions were made. And strangely enough, Mom didn’t need the straight jacket after all.

Hand shakes and “Pleasure to meet you”s all around. Mom smiles a genuine smile, leans close to me, grasps my arm and whispers “I know you will take care of them”. And there it is. Crazy Mom was unable to contain herself any longer. Listen to her talk! Who understands what she babbles on about?

Well. I do, beloved Daughter. I do.