My friend said to me this morning that I am about to enter a very dark hole. It's beyond that. I have instead jumped in (I'd like to say pushed hard from behind but since I made the decision to renovate, I guess I need to take some responsibility) without a parachute, a flashlight, a map, or a therapist. I am armed only with a corkscrew, a bottle of red wine, and an armful of house & home magazines.
Today, May 15, is Day 1 of the major renovation of our tired little house.
As background information, we're tearing down the garage in the back, ripping up our deck, tearing down the back half of our house, digging out and extending the basement, rebuilding the back addition bigger with reconfigured second floor, bigger bathroom, new powder room on the main floor, new kitchen and a little family area on the other side of the island. The house will (keeping fingers crossed ) be amazing... that is if we don't go bankrupt/insane/divorced before finishing.
According to our contractor, the renovation will be finished in 6 months tops. He seems a nice guy - thorough, experienced, relaxed - but I also know where he lives.
This is my goal during the entire masochistic process: I'm hoping over the next few weeks to lose 10 pounds from stress (nasty winter weight), try not to become an alcoholic and most importantly not become a single mother of two pychologically damaged boys (ages 9 & 4) during the entire process.
10:00 a.m.: the demo crew has been at work for the past 2 hours. The garage is mostly down, the fence separating the garage from the backyard is down...and I've barely finished my first cup of coffee at work. The crew are passionate about the destruction, I figure it's probably cathartic seeing as yesterday was Mother's Day.
By 4:00 pm, when I stop by before picking the kids up from school, the garage is down and the deck is completely torn apart.
There is no turning back now.