Earlier this week Mr FM and I were discussing our mortgage. We’ve always said we wanted it paid off by the time Mr FM was 50 – that’s coming up for nine years away now. After doing some calculations we found that if we continue making over payments at the rate we have been doing well actually have it paid off in eight years – assuming the base rate stays low and we can find a decent deal when our fixed period ends in 2018.
So we decided to challenge ourselves. When the fixed period ends, can we move to a five year fix that will pay off the mortgage entirely, meaning it will be gone seven years from now? It will mean continuing with the overpayments and paying off small additional lump sums here and there (such as when our council tax break comes every year) but I think it’s possible.
However, weeks such as the one I’m having now make me want to just give up my job and get out of the rat race NOW. I wish every day that we weren’t wasting our son’s childhood rushing him out of the door at 7.30am and not collecting him again until 5.30pm. Even if we get rid of the mortgage in seven years, he’s going to be coming on for thirteen and won’t need us quite as much as he does now. I worry what affect these daily stresses have on him. It doesn’t help that every morning he’s crying because his shoes don’t fit (don’t get me wrong, he actually has two pairs that fit him perfectly well, he’s just a primadonna) and so we’re leaving the house every morning in bad moods because if he doesn’t just put his damn shoes on now I will miss my train.
I hate sitting on the train every day. I hate coming home to a frantic making-tea-getting-bathtime-done evening. I hate that Mr FM has to get up at 5am so he can leave work early enough to pick our son up before after school closes. And I HATE having to spend almost a grand a year on my train pass.
But this too shall pass. And I hope that when our son is older he realises that we worked hard throughout his childhood to pay for the house that will one day become his nest egg. I hope he understands why mummy wasn’t there all the time. And I hope the new bloody shoes we’re buying him tonight are suitable for Master Marcos.