I Swear Our House Wasn’t a Fixer-Upper When We Bought It

A wee two bedroom mid-century, move-in ready.  That’s what it was, I swear.  Two years later now and I’m not so sure.

We just finished a full ceiling makeover, for no other reason than we didn’t like the acoustic popcorn that was there originally.  Seal the rooms; scrape the popcorn; haul out the debris; add new beams because they look nice; patch, mud, and sand; prime and paint.

Ah, but heed well, padawan.  There’s more.

Prior to the ceiling project, we (counting backwards) replaced the mailbox; installed new front and back doors, a new window in the bathroom, and cabinets in the laundry room; dug a fire pit in the front yard (to match the one in the back); removed a wood-burning stove and patched the hole where the stove pipe exited the roof; built a shed; installed exterior electrics and lighting; ripped out the old landscaping (which included a laurel hedge that occupied the same length, width, and height as the Great Wall of China); and planted forty-three new trees and assorted varieties of ground cover to replace the Great Wall of China.

In a house that wasn’t a fixer-upper.

I feel like the guy on that insurance commercial: “I’m never buying another house.”

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