Not a Problem

So yeah, it's been awhile. That's because for most of the year I've been preoccupied with my newest dreaded word in the English language: renovations.

The saga started in February, when my sister and I decided to do some minor updates to the childhood home we inherited from our mother. Bear in mind, this house was built in 1969 and hadn't been cosmetically touched since Nixon was in office. Picture the Brady Bunch home and that about sums it up.

We weren't overly ambitious though, mainly due to limited funds. In preparation to either continue renting or consider selling, we would simply paint the entire interior, install new hardwood floors, and that would be it. Period. And new carpets in the bedroom, too. Oh yeah, that means we would need new baseboards, so add that.  Hmm, new doors would look great. And new kitchen granite counter tops would look stunning. And new inset lighting. And a new dishwasher. But we can't do the kitchen and ignore the bathrooms, so let's do new bathroom counter tops, too. And marble floors. Oh heck, and throw in new sinks while we're at it. And water fixtures. And light fixtures. And toilets. And fans. And mirrors. And ventilation. And let's not forget curb appeal: we must do landscaping too, but the front yard only. And a new irrigation system. Okay, we'll do the backyard, too. 

Four months later, we're finally done and our beautiful childhood home looks like it's been blessed by The Property Brothers and kissed by Chip and Joanna Gains. That is, until we discover a fly in the ointment--or to be more specific, signs of water in the crawlspace. What the what?

So we call a water restoration company to remove the standing puddles and afterward, hire a plumber to locate the source of water. Except they can't find an obvious cause. They follow up with a thorough, more detailed, day-long inspection to find the leaking culprit but still, no luck. All pipes are in perfect working order, they say.  So we hire a drainage company to determine if perhaps the new irrigation system is at fault. Nope, nothing out of the ordinary there. So we hire a leak-inspection company for another, more targeted inspection. Again, nada. 

Two months later, after numerous inspections and countless costs that would have easily covered an all-expenses paid year-long trip for two to Tahiti, we get the final verdict: "It's just the way the house is built," they tell us with a shrug. "All homes in this neighborhood have some water under the house. It's not a problem."

Not a problem? Not a problem?  After months of stressing about this, I look like Keith Richards.  I've memorized my freaking credit card number and the security code in back, thanks to "it's not a problem." 

Which brings us to our final crowning touch to the house: the "For Sale" sign that went up after everything was done being hammered, painted, sprayed, and sealed. We got a preemptive offer before it even went on the market.

And once again, I can sleep. And smile. And splurge. Because--thank God--it's not a problem.