Next time we buy a house it's going to be done. DONE. No "super charming 1984 fixer upper on the land of a former vast pig farm next to the water sanitation facility and bleeds heat and A/C like a hemophiliac and you will outgrow the day you move in. By the way, the price will be unholy as its less than two miles from the beach." What's the big draw to living so close to the ocean? Asks the mountain girl. Seriously. Same house would be waaaaaaaaay less expensive further inland. But it's by the beach! On a pig farm! Next to the poop plant! You'll fall in love with that low tide smell, just you wait!
We are still working on the house improvements with the intent to run! Not walk! To a better home for our family. I seriously dislike renovation work. It unearths a wide history of nastiness. And cockroaches. And spiders that try to truck off with your baby over their creepy fuzzy heads.
Here's the floor. And the work that needs to be done. A tiny portion of the list of things we still need to do!
Next time I'm moving into a Swedish minimalist apartment/loft. So sterile that a cockroach would die from shock at the sparse opportunities to hide in their nasty shameful existences.
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