Any time construction happens in my house, it ends in frustration and anger. This time we can toss anxiety into the mix.
I like my house neat and orderly. I’m forever after my husband to pick up his clothes, to not leave his lunch box in the middle of the kitchen floor or to put his shoes where the shoes go… Any surface in my house needs to be free of clutter or I feel anxiety kick in. Living in a house under perpetual construction is not advised for those with the OCD I have.
I’ve got boxes on the loft landing. Those can’t be put away until the upstairs loft/office area is finished. That can’t be finished until we agree on a flooring color and type.
Now, I have 42 coats stacked on the bed in one of our spare rooms. I cannot see the floor in that room because it has boxes and boxes of cleaning stuff, light bulbs, odds and ends for house things. My dining room table has been swallowed by clutter. I have a giant tote sitting on my dining room floor of shoes. Why?
Because two weeks ago we started rebuilding our sun room. The one room in the house that went untouched during the initial rebuild 3 years ago. A 200 square foot room is going on, as of tomorrow, week 3 of construction. My kitchen has now been swallowed by my husbands work clutter. Why 3 weeks for such a small room? I married not only a builder, but a perfectionist.
The mud, even though it will be sanded, needs to be perfect and smooth. That line, even though the house is 132 years old, needs to be straight.
What he never takes into consideration, while I stand there, reminding him? That this is only for the next 5 years, it doesn’t have to be perfect. In 5 years, we are taking that sun room off and adding a whole new 2-story room to move my office downstairs, make the kitchen bigger, make the house a 4 bedroom instead of a 3 bedroom and put a bathroom upstairs.
My mother keeps reminding me that I married my father. I’d hate to admit it, but I’m starting to think that she’s right.