When a room is finished (or mostly so since they never truly are), there is a surge of dopamine that occurs – a period where you are truly high on the accomplishment. Or perhaps the fumes.
I still remember those good old boys looking at me across the table when I closed on the house. The recommendation was to scrape this old house and build something else. But this was truly the only house I could afford. It was still standing. No obvious holes. The electrical and plumbing were still working.
They asked who would be doing the work. I answered, “Me.”
I've had help. I have a wonderful and supportive partner. He works more hours than most couples combined. My job is to take care of the kid. And to chip away at the time intensive labor on the house. I save the heavy lifting for him. And anything that needs to be cut. I'm totally afraid of the saw. But I scrape, sand, paint, haul, clean, stain, wipe, and push our belongings from room to room as we make our way through these renovations.
And when we get to sit down in a beautiful finished room, we are visibly high on our accomplishment. This
was beyond amusing when we finished the bathroom. We spent a lot of time in there, hanging out, chatting a bit, and basking in our glory. When I came down off the endorphins for a moment to discover we were actually holding our dinner plates in our laps, he was on the toilet and I was on the edge of the bathtub – well, I knew it was time to immerse ourselves in another room.
So here we are. Ugly carpet gone. Ceiling and paneling painted. Floor sanded, stained and verathaned.
And it only took us a year.