Week 9: Fun with Clint and Jen

Drywall demolition began last Thursday and such visual progress is quite satisfying. I arrived home to the baritone boom of Clint's sledgehammer and quickly changed clothes to join in the destruction. Clint labeled "Jen's Wall" on the division between our current laundry and living rooms, which we plan to open up. This will create an open-designed grand room. With great satisfaction, we tore that puppy up. To be accurate, I did 6% of the work, and Clint accomplished the other 94%. I've come to the profound realization that knocking stuff down is fun. Fun at three with wooden blocks. Fun at fifteen with a rowdy Jenga game. Fun at thirty with remodeling a slightly larger wooden block.

Week 8: The Ugly Stuff

Over dinner last Saturday, Clint and I spread poster board across the table and mindmapped our next project: the kitchen. As he explained the process, I simplified it into "ugly" and "pretty" stuff. The demo hacks everything to pieces and the cabinets and flooring polish it all up. The ugly stuff includes about 12 steps, from shoring to flooring. I am still in denial that remodeling is our reality, which Clint reminds me is not on a mindmapped option.

Week 7: High-Fiving Good Time

I just sung an aria, high-fived all our neighbors, and kart wheeled across the lawn. All in celebration of finishing the shingles! I feel like belting Sinatra lyrics from the mountain tops in Julie Andrews style. But the sweetest successes come from labored struggle. Our communication skills provided just such a stretch during this project. Specifically our use of the term "goal". Being a to-do list junkie, I break projects into attainable tasks with timelines called "goals". Clint uses the same term to mean "a general ambition for accomplishment". If he meets his goal, he believes it wasn't set high enough. These two definitions collided in December after I pestered Clint to set a completion date for the shingles. He casually mentioned it would take at least a few weekends. I have no use for modifiers like "at least", so I translated this into an oath of completion in exactly 21 days, or 3 weeks (give or take a few hours). When that magic number 21 was reached, two lonely rows of cedar were tacked up in the back. Not quite what I had on my spreadsheeted goal. Since then, we have committed to a common remodel vocabulary. I'm trying to loosen up, and Clint is explaining plans in terms I can understand. Back to my arias, I'm off to serenade the neighbors with my joyful Buble jingles.

Week 6: Storage Galore

We are lacking many things in our home, but storage is not one of them. Many of our non-functioning appliances serve as impromptu storage. When our oven went kaput, we googled microwave-friendly recipes and brainstormed ways to use the space while we wait for the new kitchen. Then I thought--Tupperware! We now have easy access to containers in all shapes and sizes. Other unusual spaces are our closets. It's amazing how many shirts, slacks, and coats to adults can accumulate. All of these items were homeless until we got creative. Clint hung a handmade ladder his grandpa built from the ceiling. Viola--instant closet! For my clothes, I used another heirloom handmade piece. When Clint's parents came over, they mentioned this heirloom was actually a liquor cabinet. Well, now it stashes my arsenal of sweaters. Our only problem is when friends visit and try finding stuff. Looking for toilet paper? It' sin the out-of-commission Jacuzzi tub, of course.

Week 5: Give Me a Half Glass

Our goal wears a Nike jogging suit, shouting "wake up" with staccato clarity as we snooze Saturday mornings. We huddle up and with bent heads, brush teeth while the goal fiercely whispers our strategy for success. Clint has now completed the back shingling--the mid-mark.

Halfway done is as momentarily satisfying as eating Chinese food. We peruse "before" pictures to remind ourselves of obstacles defeated. The Hardy-Plank siding started while we were still dating. The three coats of color sprayed on before finding Blueberry blue. The arm sling Clint wore while painting the house (don't ask). Is the glass half empty or half full? The whistle-wearing goal says there's no time for philosophy--the front needs our attention.

Week 4: The Sanctuary

Since the shingling progress is shockingly slow, I'll direct attention to our finished master suite, "The Sanctuary". Clint hammered into the nights to 90s rock and John Tesh's self help mantras in hopes of completing the rooms before our June wedding. Overexposure to Star 101.5fm caused him to continuously hum Ace of Base and share "intelligence for life" tidbits with sales clerks at Lowes. His valiant efforts fell short, but exchanging vows eclipsed spacking shower drains on the June to-do list. While we sipped Pina Coladas on our honeymoon, however, our friends and family threw work parties in Seattle. One friend was undeterred by his lack of house key, and instead, came in through the crawl space, lifting a 200 pound water heater which rested upon the hatch opening. Clint's parents opened the front door 20 minutes later to a tired but determined worker.

Our den of disrepair was replaced by textured drywall, completed wiring, and installed fixtures. Friends even stuck house numbers on our mailbox! This letter-receiving machine is much more functional now that the mailman can find us. After some paint and flooring, we settled into our suite.

Week 3: Can We Buy You a Drink?

Nestled in DuPont, we found a bastion of caffeination on our trip to the Washington coast. We stretched our legs and perused Starbucks' "Gold Star Membership" literature. Half of my mocha was gone before the "Rewards" education ended. Since we were hopped up on stimulants, we felt motivated to draw out landscaping plans for the house. Optimistic plans for future projects prevent despair at the tedium of our current shingling process.

My lacking drafting skills became more apparent as the landscape developed. Clint, a structural engineer, directed my lackluster ability to set objects to scale. The basketball hoop does not actually dwarf the trees, and the garage is not the same size as the house. My curving brick pathway, however, would elicit praise from any kindergarten teacher. With an oddly large car randomly added--viola--our landscape was complete. At least the sketch. So, yes, Starbucks, you may buy us a drink. But we'll need something stronger than coffee.