postmodernfamilyblog

One week till we move in. One. (EEEEEEK!!!)

So much has happened in the last five days. The flooring was laid. The countertops installed. The light fixtures hung.

Y’all… the harmony, the rhythm, the texture of it all.

It’s like a symphony. It’s like some poetic promise was poured through my dreams into a reality beyond beautiful. The perfect notes curled into the perfect chords to create the perfect composition.

So much depth. So much light. So much energy.

I can’t even.

So just look…

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So now come all the finishing touches. The rest of the paint, too. (No, that Great Room in the distance of the first picture is not staying yellow.)

And the kitchen backsplash is being laid. And the shower fixtures are being installed. The tub is in place, but not anchored in. The same with the console sink in the powder bath. And the mirrors will be hung and the appliances slid into place.

Well, except for the ovens. The double ovens, scheduled for pickup and install yesterday, are now not coming in until July.

Cue the scratching hiss of a needle on spinning vinyl… The one major hitch in our harmony.

No ovens for at least six weeks.

Thankfully, I’ll have a cooktop on the island. We’ll be doing lots of saucepan suppers. But hey, who bakes in the heat of the summertime in the south anyways?

And as long as I have them in time for a gazillion batches of cookies for the football players come fall, I can take this in stride.

Still, the fact that we move in next Friday — one week from today — with the help of a slew of football players who will be richly rewarded this fall when those double ovens finally do come in — is music to my ears.

This past week, the remodel was rolling right along. The cabinets were installed. The kitchen and office, painted. The tile set, the grout, smeared. But then… snags.

The office was painted the wrong color. The sink and cabinets didn’t line up. The couple buying our current house slid another financial contingency our way (an easy hurdle, but scary when it arrived).

All in a single day.

And now the painters have slowed their progress. Too many jobs for them, too little time.

Mike and I walked through last night. To think, in two weeks, we should be settling in. But then, there’s so much still to be done.

I’m doing my best to stay patient. All the things are scheduled – if the schedule sticks. We’re kind of at the mercy of subcontractors.

The ceilings are being painted this weekend. The flooring will be laid on Tuesday of this week. Lighting goes in on Monday. Countertops arrive on Thursday. Plumbing and fixtures hit Friday. Appliance install is at the end of the week, too, along with our new mantel. The rest of the painting, the following week.

It’s happening. But some weeks it feels like wading through sorghum. 

And speaking of slow as molasses, I’ve got to make it through two more weeks of the hardest school year ever. The year that laid claim to my father and aunt will finally be over in another two weeks. The sadness won’t end, but hopefully a shift will occur. A pivot. A pointing toward positive.

In two weeks, a new chapter can begin. Two weeks.

A fortnight.

My favorite, oh-so-British, unit of time. Such a mysterious, promising span. It’s appropriate that I first encountered it inside the pages of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

The term is an abbreviation of fourteen nights. And when I began penning this blog, that’s how many there were until our June 4, move-in-day: fourteen nights.

A promise that after all the nights, comes the day… 

Thank you, God. I’m so tired of the nights. And so much mystery and promise typically does come with the two-week time slots of a fortnight.

Two week notices

Vacation and travel schedules.

The cycles of the moon, from new to full.

From the ping of ovulation to a pair of pale pink lines.

New life springs eternal in so many ways. Here’s to the mystery and promise of a fortnight.

There’s a giddy little feeling in my belly every time I walk in the door of our remodel. Butterflies flitting; bees buzzing. It’s a bit like falling in love.

Our project has hit the really sexy stage — and at dizzying speeds.

Wet paint. Hung cabinets. Hard granite. Stripped floors. Silken sheens. Phew! It leaves me breathless.

And the kitchen, in particular, makes me swoon.

Two days ago, it stood empty, a mottled mix of drywall mud and tired blue paint, Today, it’s dazzling, simple, clean, and bright. Like salt licks and sugar cubes.

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It leaves me drooling..

And then there’s the dark, deep, urbane bronze island. Y’all. I can’t. It’s too gorgeous. Too perfect. Holy hotness! (And the floors and countertops aren’t even in yet!)

Then there’s our master bath. The shower lip and tub platform are erected. The niches recessed and waiting. Waiting for the grout to get laid. The fixtures to be put in, turned on.

And have I mentioned the newly-installed custom bookcase in the study? The floor-to-ceiling bookcase? Inside what will soon be a dark, moody, north-facing study painted the same deep, urbane bronze as our handsome island in the kitchen?

I have to confess I’ve never done this sort of thing before, and I’m finding it an endorphin rush like no other. (Well, almost.)

So, y’all — remodeling. I finally get what all the fuss is about.

#remodelingishot