Chaos

We live in an episode of Survivor meets Extreme Make-over, Home Edition. And we're about to vote somebody off the island.

Every surface of every object in our home is covered in a thick layer of dust. My fingertips are dessicated from the layer of dry wall dust coating the keyboard. Our noses and lungs are full of it. Our bodies are launching a counter-attack, and I feel very sleepy. Our only remaining fortress is our dusty bed - not even our bedroom (which is more of a portal these days, since walls have become more figurative than literal). Other than the bed, we have one semi-accessible chair, and I'm sitting in it now as I write to you. Geoff has to stand. We went to a movie tonight because there is no place to be at home. We feel defeated.

The other night, after two days straight of pulling up carpet and carpet tacks and prying off baseboard by myself, I dreamed that the workers shoved something else into the nook designed for the refrigerator. It was disturbing. I bought a Dyson vacuum in a futile effort to regain control of our environment.

In anticipation of the new flooring, we crammed all of our possessions into the back part of our house and onto the back porch, confident that we'd be moving it all back that night. Instead, the construction crew creeps along in their efforts to lay the hard wood floors. Good thing it never rains. They did make headway in demolitions to put in the second set of French doors in our living room (see before and after) and to enlarge our master bath (the torn up tangerine-colored room) and add a second closet. Meanwhile, our kitchen deadline has also been delayed. The granite guy Peter, of "Stone Surgeons" has to get another kitchen ready for an open house, STAT! What could be more open than OUR house?!

Yesterday, we were so upset to discover that almost no headway had been made on our floors (sentencing us to another night as captives on our own bed) that we were thrilled when a car paused then lingered in front of our house on the street. Geoff ran out to see what it was. A woman was wrangling a king snake (which Geoff, the herpetologist, identified). She was trying to get it out of the road using her dog's chuck-it. Geoff pulled a Steve Irwin and pinned its snakey head down, then picked it up. I snapped a few photos of Geoff posing with the snake because it was hands down the most fun we had had all day. Geoff completed the picture in his wife beater. You can take the boy out of Carolina, but you can't take the Carolina out of the boy.

Today, to add more drama, our contractor Wally almost had a panic attack. He called me urgently today to inform me that Mishka (who should have been confined to the back rooms) had been let out and had dashed off suddenly, traumatized by the loud sound of the concrete grinders. Thirty minutes of searching by several men had revealed nothing. Geoff and I raced home. Geoff found her on her way back from the dog park, skipping down the street and making sure to look both ways. I took the afternoon off to babysit her and run errands.

Even though this is tougher than we anticipated, we can already see how good everything is looking, and we can't wait for everything to be done so we can start our new lives in our new home. After all of the dust settles (and gets promptly sucked up by the Dyson), we plan to go hunting for furniture so we'll be ready for your visit!