Shit gets real

We’re on Month 19 of our remodel project and our house is still standing. Our pace thus far has been leisurely, full of Pinterest boards and estimates and tile sampling. Everything about it has felt like tubing down a lazy river, fingers trailing along the water’s surface. Then July showed up and we hit the rapids.

This is the week that I realized I never actually thought this was going to happen. Like, for realsies. All at once, the bank was done asking for paystubs and account statements. The contractor’s estimate was finalized. Permits were ready for signing (and paying, and paying, and paying).

At this point, I did what any risk-adverse family CFO would do, which was to freak the fuck out. Hardcore. Did I actually want this? What the hell was I thinking? We don’t need this stress! We can live out the rest of our days here hoarding our savings beneath our sinking floor boards and like it!

The husband, who absolutely did think the remodel was real, responded in kind, basically saying this is all he’s ever wanted out of life and he was gonna die if it didn’t happen. It was at this moment that it dawned on me that this train had already left the station, and my best move was to buckle up.