You know when you're a kid and your mom gives you some sort of ultimatum, like "clean your room and I'll take you to Dairy Queen with the rest of your siblings and you can get a dip cone". But you know that it's already 7pm and it will take you so long to clean your room and DQ closes and 8pm, and you know your sister already cleaned hers, because, well, she does stuff like that. You think there's no way you could possibly get your room clean in a hour and it's so so so tempting to just shove everything in the closet and under the bed and between the box spring and the mattress, because you want that dip-cone's butterscotch glory so bad. But you know your mom's a smart lady. You know that she knows all your secret spots of clothes stashing. You know it will take longer to hide the crap, have mom find it, then actually clean it up that it will to just hide it and hope for the best. So, you stare blankly around the room a bit, get your bearings, then slowly but surely start folding clothes, stacking shoes, dusting shelves, and hopefully, before 8pm, that room is clean and you get your ice cream. Just. keep. going.
Well... that's how I feel about the house. It would be so easy to just re-carpet, sheetrock over the lath and plaster, ignore the ancient wiring, but I know that's not what we want. That wouldn't make us happy in the long run, we'd get sick from the moldy floors, the shower floor would cave it, the house would burn down, or we'd spend all our money on heating the darn old drafty lady. Basically, we've got to do this right or we would get crazy and the house would cave in on us.
So, here we are, doing things the right way, and hopefully, before too long, I'll get that butterscotch dip cone. Actually, I'll settle for being able to walk around my house in my socks without the very real possibility of tetanus.
About three weeks ago, we closed on our first house - a 1890s Folk Victorian beauty. She was hiding all her pretty bones under layers and layers of linoleum, carpeting, faux rock and wood paneling, and years of "quick" fixes. The day we moved in, the husband and I were sitting on the living room's baby blue carpet eating pizza and being generally overwhelmed, when he asked, "would you rather live with this," he said, gesturing to the stained carpet, popcorn drop ceiling, and faux rock walls,"or with bare studs and chaos?" It was an immediate "construction zone, hardwood floors, bare studs, please!" We've been hard at work, demo-ing everything. I don't believe there is a room in the first floor that we haven't destroyed something in. We're on our 16th pickup truck load to the dump and we haven't even gotten the plaster off the walls. But, the end will soon be in sight. Then we can do fun things like tacking up trim and picking out paint colors.
|The living room pre-demo. Note the "lovely" sconces.|