The house didn’t open into a mystical sinkhole and swallow me whole. Though I still have my suspicions that it may have been built atop an ancient Indian burial ground.

I spent an amazing month or so on the road, taking a cross-country motorcycle trip with my hubby. It was nice to try to forget about the pressures of this house, despite its attempts to sabotage the vacation. While we were gone the evil air conditioner on the second floor quit working and the arbor in the backyard came crashing down. Turns out the air conditioner had a loose wire-fixed. The arbor looked like a 2nd grader built it out of popsicle sticks and his dad had repaired it a few times with duct tape and staples … no great loss.

Here’s my conversation with my husband last night.

Hubby: “How about tomorrow night we go to our favorite restaurant for a romantic dinner while we watch the sunset?”

Me: “That sounds wonderful, but we really should keep working on the house.”

Hubby: “Sure, but we could have a relaxing night out.”

Me (not realizing the scope of the project): “Well, let’s just start the bedroom so we keep to our timeline.”

In a couple of hours I could have been sharing gourmet mac and cheese with him. Instead, I’m counting the spiders that were living behind my baseboards.

Our first floor looks like we took in a bunch of homeless people whose only possession was giant bedroom furniture. There’s a Cal King in my dining room. Finally, I can make my wine selection without getting out of bed.

Here’s where I’m at so far in the master

The bedroom needs carpet and molding removed, holes patched because apparently The Hulk previously slept here, paint on the walls (goodbye “builder beige”), paint and replace the trim, installation of the hardwood floors, somehow seal the leaky windows, hang new drapes I do not yet own, and installation of new transitions. Ugh, to say the least.