Hubby and I worked our butts off yesterday finishing the master bath. He went to bed at four this morning and I went to bed at six. Crazy, I know. But we got it done without killing each other . . . our tortured bodies are doing it for us.
Call our method slap-hazard, poor planning, totally disorganized and I will have to agree with you. Wholeheartedly. Right now I would win the Nobel Prize for worst house keeper of the year. The dogs are confused, I’ve done lost my mind, and hubby’s ready to leave me for the beach. Where he can sit and fish all day. In peace and quiet. Without a dragon lady breathing fire down his back every second.
It’s been tough on us both. My crack-the-whip, get-er-done temperament clashes with his laid back-what’s-the-rush temperament. He likes procrastinating. I like getting things done. NOW!
So our worlds clash.
No. They collide. They blow up and disintegrate.
I think he’s from Mars. He wishes I’d go there.
He thinks we’re going to live forever. I think we could drop dead any minute.
Seriously. This renovation has brought the devil out in both of us. If we didn’t have a solid forty-seven-year, happy relationship it would be ending in divorce.
Thank goodness, we only have one more room to go, and we’re finished. But, first, we are going to clean up the messes we made and create some sense of order before we tackle that room. The beginning of next month is the plan. In the year 2020. Not 2021. Not 2022. But 2020.
You got that hubby?
Here are some before and after photos of the bathroom we just completed along with the messes we have yet to clean up. Fasten your seat belts. It’s going to be a bumpy ride . . .