So our basement renovation project is moving along smartly. These pictures show you the fabulous bathroom tiles (in the fabulous bathroom, which never existed before); they make me so happy every time I look at them.
They are going to make the tall boy happy, too; his new digs are going to be so excellent! He will no longer feel like Harry Potter -- stuffed into the cupboard under the stairs. Of course, one might argue that the tall boy kind of likes feeling like Harry Potter, but that's a story for another day.
Our own projects (the ones we actually do ourselves) tend to go something like this:
ME: I think we should paint the trim on the exterior of our house. [He and I are formal like that. We say "exterior" when we really mean "the ugly, peeling, painty stuff around our windows."]
HIM: When you say "we," who exactly are you talking about?
ME: Well, us, or, you know, like, people we could pay money to . . . .
HIM: Well, that would be a waste of time and effort and money, because we're going to re-do the whole carport in a little while, so why don't we just wait?
ME: Good plan!
Then we go to Starbucks.
So it's kind of a miracle of modern marriage that our basement is actually being renovated.
We actually owe it all to our dear friend, Juan Pablo, who is a professional contractor. He actually has the skill, the motivation, the crew, and the lack of laziness to see this project through. God bless him!
And just for laughs, look what Juan Pablo's crew found when they were in the middle of the demolition phase of this project? This box of bullets was found hidden above the ceiling tiles in the back bedroom. My Dolly Madison friends and neighbors can just imagine who among the famous and infamous former owners of the home stashed this little prize.
I know, right?