We moved into our house on December 4th. As I type this post, it is exactly 3 months later. There are drop cloths on a sofa and a man correcting the paint on the window trim. An electrician is rearranging the switches on a 4-gang switch plate so they’re in a more logical order. A landscape crew is repairing decking that wasn’t sealed in a timely fashion. It’s a full house.
Every weekday, Tad and I have had to be showered and dressed by 6:50 a.m., lest the landscape crew passing by our bathroom’s floor-to-ceiling window get a show. And probably not one they’d like.
Two bedrooms, three months after moving in.
Our punch list is finally down to the dregs, and while we are mostly more amused than annoyed by the circus we’ve been living in, we really look forward to enjoying our house by ourselves. Maybe sleeping in until 7:15 a.m. Showering with no fear of flashing an innocent worker. Zooming with no interruptive knock on the front door that makes Fiver lose her mind over yet another intruder.
I expected the detail work and the repairs. What I didn’t anticipate was the psychological pinball that kicked off back in December. ...
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