It is bittersweet that the construction that I have been dreaming about for years (at least 15!) of a new kitchen, bath, and den has now begun, and the only way it was made possible was through my mother's death. I know that she would be very happy that some of the monies she left to me are going to fix up the house. Whenever she gave us money as a gift, she wanted it to be used on something that she could see, not be added to the general operating budget to pay the mortgage.
To prepare for the construction, we had to move everything out of the three rooms and into others. Over the last few months, Doug and I have slowly been going through everything we own to see what we need and what we really want to keep. It's amazing that despite the amount we have donated, trashed, gifted to our children (Russell keeps asking why every time he comes home now he leaves with more than he came with!), there is still so much left.
What is left has now been moved into the basement where I work (making an already messy space even messier; no clients are reading this, I hope), the porch, the garage, the kids' rooms, and our room. Even Perri's goldfish (his/her story of perseverance is a tale for another day) had to find a new home for a few months.
|The den is now the cleanest room|
in the house!
Like most things, you need to tear down before you can build up (hmmm, a life lesson for my scrap of paper?). So yesterday began the tear down. Walls, floors, ceilings, tiles are now in a dumpster sitting in our driveway. Added to the chaos of stuff all over the place is dust all over the place. One of the crew said I should get used to living in dirt for a few months. Really?
Friends who have gone through home renovations had warned me, but I really had no idea how much chaos we'd be living in.
Note to self: What were you thinking?