Disrupted

There's this part of Finding Nemo when Marlin and Dory are way down in the dark near the ocean's floor. They're following a pretty light and feeling oddly relaxed and happy. Suddenly they see that the light is attached to a scary angler fish. "Good feeling's gone!" Marlin says as Dory screams. That's me and the remnants of my vacation attitude.

Anyone who figured out that we were on vacation last week and stopped by to steal our valuables (chewed up board books, furniture covered with dog hair) probably met Craig.

Craig is the nice contractor who's re-doing our "master" bathroom. He's extremely nice and seems to be doing a very good job. But I lied to myself about how much I'd notice having one room of our house out of commission for a couple of weeks.

Why should it be a big deal? Where's the possible inconvenience? He did all the demolition while we were out of town. We have two other bathrooms to use in the meantime. He's got the room sealed off so that the girls can't get in and the dust can't get out. And we settled all the details, signed all the contracts, arranged all the finances well ahead of time with the main office, not our contractor. It's a lovely way to work.

But also. There's plastic over the carpet from the side door through the family room, down the hall, and across our bedroom. (I'm glad of the protective coating, I really am. It's just a little weird.) Not quite all the dust stays in the bathroom, either. Paul showers in the basement bathroom, but other than that we're all 4 sharing the tiny hall bath. It's got a cute little shower that looks perfectly normal-sized until you try to turn around in it. Actually, that pretty much describes the whole room. And my girls are not poorly-aiming little boys, but they're still not a joy to share a toilet with. We're going through lots and lots of Clorox wipes. Sorry, Earth.

The worst is the never-ending decisions. I thought we had everything decided: vanity surface, cabinet style, fixtures, tile. No, no, there are more decisions to be made, usually in a hurry: paint, toilet paper holder, storage, and so forth.

The weather here is cooler this week; it's lovely outside. But I am not out enjoying the early summer sunshine. Oh, no. I'm hauling my children hither and yon, desperately seeking the perfect medicine cabinet, over john storage, towel bars, etc. How, exactly, did we get roped into getting all these things separately? What sense does that make? And how can it possibly be so hard?!

Next up for this summer's home improvement marathon: driveway and front porch. But at least that's outside, right? How could it possibly be inconvenient?