Friday, June 23, 2006

Home, Sweat Home

Like many a young couple before us, Jenni and I are in the process of redecorating and personalizing our first home. We shared a townhouse in New Jersey, but that was "my" place that Jenni moved into. Our new 3 bedroom, 2.5 bathroom is "our" first place. We bought an older home (built in 1981) because we wanted a larger lot and making our own improvements didn't scare us.
Foolish humans.
Jenni and I are pretty handy, but the scope of this project exponentially exceeds anything we've ever undertaken. We haven't moved in yet, but we've spent two months, painting, flooring, tiling, sweating, crying, and then painting again. When people ask me how I am, I can only respond, "must work on house." After a long laborous weekend of work, Jenni was looking forward to the relative ease of the workweek. If we're not working on the house, we're thinking about working on the house. On Sunday, as Phil Mickelson was wrapping one of his two drivers around his neck, I was completely unaware of the historical choke because I mired in haystack colored grout. We go to bed tired and wake up exhausted. We find paint spots on random parts of our body. When I walk into my local hardware store, everyone shouts, "NORM!"
What did we get ourselves into? Seeing as though the previous owner was of the Centrum Silver set, our goal was to "rid the home of old lady." Basically, the home looked like an extra set for the Golden Girls. There was pink everywhere: pink carpet, pink curtains, pinkish tile, pink elements in this fireplace/hearth that needed to be put out of it's misery. And then there were these pink pool bumpers above the windows. What are these things? 
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Of course, with every proposed change, we had Jenni's parents second-guessing the cost-benefit factor. My in-laws have become the Statler and Waldorf of our home improvement. For example, since our home was built in the early 1980's it came complete with an acoustical "popcorn" ceiling. We planned to have this scraped of for basically a dollar a square foot. When we announced this, you would have assumed Jenni's folks had survived the Depression, the way they balked at this expense.
"Why would you do that? It's a perfectly good popcorn ceiling."
This became kind of their standard catch phrase, just replace the words "popcorn ceiling" with "pink curtains," "sponge painted fireplace," "mauve carpet." Etc. Penny pinching aside, Jenni's parents have been really helpful on the job site. Jenni's Dad, Dave, is the eternal optimist as well as master validator. Throughout the work process, we're staying in our apartment whose lease is up next month. Dave keeps affirming our actions letting us know that it's good we've had this time to make changes before we have to move. At same time, I know if we had timed our move to the day our lease ended and escrow closed, he tell me riding in the moving truck, "It's good you're not going to be paying rent and a mortgage at the same time." If my father-in-law were a superhero, he would be Silver Lining Man.
I will not miss renting. Having owned a home and then rented again feels like a demotion. Research says owning is better for your self-esteem and I believe it. I know that before I was a homeowner I was stuck in the renter's mentality. Fearing the wrath of security deposit loss, I would sheepishly hang pictures with the smallest finishing nails I could. Then when I bought my first place, I had to be opened to the idea that I could change my surroundings. Sounds simple, but understanding that I could paint the walls something besides Navaho White was a cathartic moment in my life. 
To me, that's what it's all about--making your home, your home. At the end the day, you're the one who has to live in your surroundings; why don’t make things the way you want them? Anyone who's finished a project that they've never tackled before knows exactly what I'm talking about. Beer never tastes better than when you're looking over the fruits of a day's labor. Sipping thoughtfully in front of our newly tiled fireplace surrounded by our first hardwood installation--I could sit there forever. 
Either that or I'm too tired to move.

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