Normally I decline sponsored-content… Not because we do not need the money, but because we do not need free cereal, the prestige inherent in writing 3,000 words about miniblinds, or the glory related to being a spokesperson for lightbulbs.
But Trulia’s theme fits: the moment when you realize you are now responsible for ALL of the projects. Plus, I use their site to stalk the mansion for sale around the corner that I think we should buy, and Paul thinks no one should buy… so if I do enough sponsored posts, maybe I can save up by the year 5014.
I was supposed to choose one of six universal homebuying moments and use the accompanying image… (I was tempted to cross out 103 and replace it with 87,000. But I wasn’t sure about the etiquette of defiling other people’s work; not to mention it was literally their only requirement for what I put in this post, so it seemed less than gracious to correct them.)
Initially I thought I would write a follow-up to my series of posts about how we got here (hinge obsession,) and the experience of upheaval: ripping apart our lives, living in chaos, the way my expectations could not have been more detached from reality… and how at one point I howled at Paul from the elevation of the second floor stairwell—if I want glossy paint, WHY do you care?
WHY DO YOU CARE?????
Like the mad scene from Lucia di Lammermoor.
(Spoiler – she dies.)
I have written a lot about how HARD this house has been– how the adrenaline wears off and is replaced by frustration. And how stress and tedium and dirt become defining aspects of the project… how all the stress and tedium and dirt actually become the other person’s fault. And you will want to TELL them. And? Mysteriously? They will not be receptive to the information.
But I have never written a post about how this experience has made me appreciate Paul in a way that I would not have otherwise– his ability to get stuff done. To keep going. To not stop. To continue getting the stuff done until there is no more stuff to be done.
Now I understand that if I were trapped in a mine shaft, in a well, or stuck on a runaway train… I would not want the army, the navy, or a corps of engineers. I mean, they should definitely come, but I want Paul to be in charge.
Or, as previously discussed, Marines under 32.
(In which case, Paul can stay home.)
As I was looking for a photo I had in mind to illustrate the gratitude-for-Paul-idea, I ended up watching the movie below. It is not exactly to the point, but after I saw it, it was the only thing I wanted to share.
I took it the winter before I started this blog so my narrative/camerawork wasn’t done with an audience in mind… (however, it seems Paul has been planning for this day.) We were just finishing up the living room and dining room. The transition from storage-unit-of-despair (above) to clean, livable space was almost incomprehensible.
The video is of the night we were finally done painting and finishing up the last 10% (which always seems to take just as long as the first 90%). For the record, our woodwork was ALREADY painted, (and I will never, ever, ever buy another house with painted trim) so when I say I painted the trim, what I mean is that I repainted it.
I’d love if you all would play along and choose one of the six moments and share your story in the comments.
You reliably have way better stories than I do, so your participation always makes everyone think my blog is infinitely more interesting.
UPDATE: Paul translation– “Vikki lets me come out of the basement from time to time.”
Paint color is here.