Blood & Tears

If I had a quarter for every day that I've found a tape measure in a kitchen cupboard...

...or duct tape on my walls...

Of course it would be right there.

...or a screw driver on the counter...

...or a huge, cardboard box with a sink or lighting fixture in my living room...

...if I truly added those days up, well, what's 365 by eight?

I guess I'd have about 2,920 quarters.

{Hmm...maybe I should be counting imaginary lattes instead of quarters. 

These years have demanded more coffee than I could get my hands on.}

As mentioned in my bio, we live in an old house. Built in 1938.

Back in 2007, our desire to live in the city overruled common sense.

We ignored major issues - such as livable square footage {860 sq. feet} and the general condition of the structure {who needs windows that open?} - in order to live in our dream neighborhood. 

I wouldn't say we purchased a lemon, 

because we've turned it into something so very different over the years, 

but it was dang close. 

This one cracks me up! 'Cause if it weren't for the tape,
I definitely wouldn't notice the plaster that needs patching. ;)

But seriously, we had absolutely no idea what we'd gotten ourselves into.

The Russian, and any friends/family who would lend a hand, 

spent the better part of a decade on this transformation. 

Almost eight years now to be exact. 

{Though we did take some time off after Mac was born.}

But truly, the rest of those years were game-on.

And this was formidable work. 

Random remodel stuff in equally random places.

These were big, Big, BIG projects, like, oh...

removing seven layers of old siding and putting up hardiplank, 

replacing ALL the windows, 

cutting massive holes in our walls for new windows, 

building two decks, 

knocking down a chimney, 

rewiring and replumbing everything, 

removing the octopus-shaped furnace, 

building a stairwell and stairs, 

and finishing {from the foundation up} the entire basement.

In the burning heat, driving rain, freezing cold. 

Before and after his eight- to sixteen-hour works days.

The Russian did it all. And not just to make things prettier.

This remodel saved our asses, because shortly after we bought our home, the recession hit. 

We had no choice but to dig in and stay put. 

To raise our family in a tiny house with no insulation, 

one that we'd only intended to live in for two to three years. Max.

Aforementioned sink in living room.
I think of it as an end-table now.

And for the record, I wasn't twiddling my thumbs, people! 

I had our three kidlets during those years. 

And, because the work was non-stop, 

there was also the constant job of making sure they didn't fall through actual holes in the floor, 

or step on roofing staples hidden in the grass, 

or inhale the never-ending clouds of drywall dust.

To say that The Russian and I have aged a bit throughout this process is a polite understatement.

But in the end, we doubled our square footage.

We created some lovely, new livable space.

We turned our lemon of a house into a cute, little home. 

A home in my most favorite neighborhood in Seattle. 

A home on the cheeriest, most wonderful block you could imagine.

Still, there's work to be done. 

Like a living, breathing thing, this house requires more from us.

The kitchen is rough. Real rough. 

And the walls need work, as does the upstairs bathroom. 

There are other projects, too.

Our make-shift pantry in the ROUGH kitchen.

Bottom line: a move is likely imminent. Not written in stone, but close.

And despite our love/hate relationship with this old heap of lumber and glass, 

admitting that we may leave often elicits a wide range of emotions. 

Typically the teary kind.  

But change is good. I know this.

A bigger space that requires less work will be best for our family. 

I know this, too.

And a part of me does long for adventure - the chance to start fresh.

So, we begin final projects on a structure 

that has stood through three quarters of a century. 

In all likelihood, this house and these projects will outlive me.

Despite the blood and tears, 

our little pain-in-the-ass home will be held in my heart forever. 

All the love and uncertainty and dreams and fear tucked safely away within its walls.

Funny how that works. :)