It’s no secret the Beard and I are in the trailing ravages of a home remodel. We tackled the master bedroom closet. We moved on to the guest bath and are looking at the last, torturous days of the master bath.

It seemed like an excellent idea at the time. We were coming off the idea of moving my parents in with us in a punch-drunk stupor. Instead of moving, we said over our very large schooners of beer, we should finish remodeling the house!

My sage advice is never to drink while making construction plans.

We started the remodel of the house with a basement finish to accommodate the offspring. That particular project didn’t really effect much as most of the work took place independently of the rest of the living space. That was in 2006.

After working and living in the starter home space that was upstairs, I asked a simple question. Can we move the

dishwasher from the right of the sink to the left of the sink?

You’d think I’d asked if The Beard would tattoo my name on his forehead. It took another year for him to wrap his engineering brain around the idea. December of 2009 we began the first step in the kitchen remodel. Today, in 2016 it’s ninety-five percent finished.

Sure, we installed a wood floor, tore out a wall, added an island and some counter space. It wasn’t until we started discussing a move that we jumpstarted that project with a countertop. An official countertop versus white melamine boards was a huge step up.

In hindsight, we should have started with a utility sink in the laundry room, but we all know hindsight is a B$%#%. In reality, it will be the last thing done.

I’ve run into a glitch with the paint in the master bathroom. The shading of the tile turned the muted taupe of Seagull Beach to cotton candy pink. GAAACK! It didn’t help I’ve no lights because the electrician hadn’t wired the lights.

On the way to change the paint the Beard asked the name of the new color.

“Winter Calm.” I said and then let out a cackle as I’m anything but calm about winter.

He didn’t miss a beat. “Murderous rage is more appropriate.”

Here’s the thing, remodeling the house has been a lot like writing a book. Just when you think you have one problem solved another rears its ugly, Peptobismol pink head. The wrong lighting, the mossy shade of tile, or the reflection of the neighbor’s red house through the new window can knock the wind right out of you.

It’s not just the writing of the book. It’s the editing. It’s the cover art. It’s the wrong word in the title that three people failed to see until last round of edits. It’s the notice that the black value in the cover is too dark for the publisher to print.

Just like the fine layer of drywall dust blankets everything everywhere, a myriad of little things slow down the book process.

My proof should arrive soon and we’re sure to find some little thing, some crooked little line of caulk or a gap between the light fixture and the ceiling or that goddamn leak in the shower.

But boy howdy, I can’t wait to have the thing finished.

Of course, I’ve started to write the third book.