Seriously, if you don't believe me, buy me coffee (skinny vanilla latte, with a dab of whip cream) and ask me to tell you the story of becoming a homeowner. I have told Brent that our next house won't have any problems, and if it does, the landlord will take care of them.
Right now as I sit on my sofa and type, there is a kind young gentleman downstairs operating a jackhammer on my basement floor. The sound of it alone is enough to make my teeth hurt (for some reason it reminds me of a root canal I had November of 2000). He then is shoveling the sloppy wet concrete and rock into a bucket, hauling it upstairs, and dumping it into the lovely receptacle parked in our driveway. There is muddy water all around our basement. It makes me sick to my stomach to go downstairs and see the amount of work that's been done, and the amount of work we have yet to do. In case you're not aware - I'm not really a manual labor kind of girl. I will fish, hunt, camp, play tackle football, hike, irrigate farmland, and feed cattle, but I don't want to fix my basement. Or your basement. I might break a nail. Or a sweat. Or a limb.
All that to say I feel completely in over my head when I think about what's left to do in our basement. These pictures aren't pretty, but I feel the need to share my mess. So gaze with sympathy upon my sawed beams, water filled perimeter, concrete rubble, and demolished basement. If we're lucky we might have it pieced back together by the end of July....?
Oh, and did I forget to mention that the neighbor across the street backed in to my husband's car this morning? Nothing super bad, and no horrendous damage. Just another, "are you serious?" moment of the day. Is it July yet??
Thankfully I found some beauty in the midst of it all....right outside my front door.