This past weekend was the one year anniversary of the move into our first house. To be honest, I have mixed feelings about the whole thing. First and foremost, I am exceptionally proud of the simple fact that we have survived the past 365 days. Nora has not made it easy on us. (Yes, I’ve named our house. If you can name a car, you can name a house. And yes, she’s named after this bad ass broad.)
We’ve done a lot that I am genuinely pleased with.
- Like new windows throughout most of the house
- A small kitchen renovation including new: paint, lighting, oven, (new to us) fridge, backsplash, cabinet hardware, and faucet
- Painting the half bath
- Painting our master bedroom (thanks for that Momma & Daddy)
- Some of the lawn work you heard about here
(Should be noted that most of this went to hell due to our ridiculously hot summer—damn you global warming.)
But there have been some really rough days; days that left me emotionally exhausted and mentally scarred for life. There was that lovely day in February when we woke at 4 am to fuming furnace and 14 inches of sewer water in our basement.
That fiasco led to a $5,000 insurance claim, new hot water tank, new furnace, new (to us) washer and dryer, five days sleeping on an air mattress in my brother’s living room, two weeks without our puppy, and several other horrible memories I have fully repressed.
We’ve also had several problems with Nora’s plumbing in the main bathroom. Our baseboards had to be ripped out almost completely so that my dad and the husband could replace a line that was causing water stains on the (freshly painted) kitchen ceiling. Before we could manage to get new baseboards up, we found another and much bigger problem. A crack in our tub surround tiles caused a hole to rot in the drain line for the tub. Translation: The tub and surrond must be ripped out so that can be repaired. Then must order a new (custom size) tub and redo all the dry wall and tiling.
So… for the last three months we’ve been showering in the basement. (Yeah, the basement that previously held 14 inches of poop water.) We’re in the process of saving some money and waiting for dear old (always saving my ass) dad to have time off work so we can smurf this shit.* (smurf: verb; to blindly attempt a project, usually of the home improvement nature, with zero professional training or guidance)
Remember when I said mixed feelings? Yeah, I’m talking shaken, stirred, blended, whipped, and beat to hell feelings.
I genuinely love this house. I love that it is ours. I love the memories we have made here and all the things I know are yet to come. I want to make it truly lovely. I want to do justice to her 81 years of beautiful history. But I am terrified to even pick up a paint brush. So many things that began as small and manageable changes have become overwhelming renovations.
In closing, I am a grown woman who is terrified of her own home. And I suppose that means that
round one year one goes to Nora.
The Wilts- 58
Wish us luck for year two; we’re going to need it.
*Note: My dad does have some professional training as a plumber, so we’re not technically smurfing it. But considering the first recorded use of smurf as a verb was my Papa’s doing, it doesn’t actually have a technical definition.
Tomorrow’s post will be all about the big plans that we have for Nora despite everything she has done to break our hearts and crush our dreams.