I can't honestly say that I don't have the teeniest, tiniest smudge of reservation about selling this house, because I do. The smallest. smallest. smallest. reservation, but it is there. It grows sometimes when people try to talk us out of selling it.
Up until now the renovations have been fun and rewarding, but also hard and stressful.
Up until now.
Notice that part?
I hate this window. I would like to take it and smash it into a million tiny little pieces, then burn those pieces in a big firey ball, then take the ashes and pulverize them, and then feed them to a shark.
I. Hate. This. Window.
Window's story goes a little something like this: Innocent, dirty window starts out on the back porch "bathroom" (as much as you can call it a "bath" in that none of the plumbing fixtures actually worked, and as much as you can call it a "room" in that it had paperboard walls between it and the outside.). I digress. But I took this window out when I demolished that "bathroom" to make our lovely screen porch.
Poor window sat neglected outside for a little while (bad window parents!), and then sat neglected in a corner of the basement. That is until we decided to construct the bathroom downstairs and someone had the brilliant idea that we needed a window in the shower. We pulled out window. Window was looking bad, but we thought: we will just clean it off, do some bondo-ing repairs, and reglaze it. Pretty easy, right?
Marc got started. About 4 hours of work on the window in, he started to have reservations. Should we really use window? Should we spring for a new window? This might be a lot of work.... Ehhh.... new window will be expensive. Let's just use this one. That discussion happened in October. In February the window is still not done.
Window has a new frame. Window has new frosted glass. Window has been reconfigured to be an awning style instead of casement. Window has new hardware. Window consumed about 3 months of Marc's life.
Every spare moment: I have to work on the window.
That $60 charge at window-hardware.com? Oh, that's for the tiniest hinges you've ever seen.
Every time the bathroom progress was stalled: I won't know that other detail until the window is in.
I. Hate. This. Window.
Here is a really fun fact about me: I like to work hard. I like to be busy. I'm hard on myself. If you have the pleasure of being my husband I expect you to work hard, be busy, and oh, yeah, just for fun, I'm super hard on you. Fun!
Here is another fun fact: I don't appreciate perfection. It's not that I don't get it, because I might if I could actually see it. You know what I like WAY better than things that are perfect? Things that are done. Bathrooms with half-assed windows, but fully functional toilets that toddlers can, you know, like poop in. Sounds better than trying to get them to make it upstairs to go, or carrying a training potty full of toddler poop up a flight.
Imperfect but DONE things. I like.
This window. It broke me. Renovating isn't fun anymore. I despise it. Those doors and thresholds I stained the other week? Excruciating. The thought that we have to trim out the kitchen still? Tantrum-inducing.
I *might* have yelled in the car alone on the way to Home Depot (for the second time) today. To me, this window represents what I hate about renovating this house. You have good intentions, you want to reuse original features, you don't think it will be *that* hard, and then BAM! Window eats your life and your soul and your will to live....err... renovate.
This window? It did get installed. It is beautiful and functional, but I will never know, I'm not touching the damn thing. Ever. I don't care if the bathroom mirror is so foggy I apply mascara to my eyebrows.
I've got a grudge and I'm holding onto it.