Front Porch: Wait till it’s empty nest improvement

Our house is in a constant state of home improvement. It’s a veritable ode to unfinished projects. I marvel when friends say they painted their living rooms or stained their decks over the weekend. “You mean it’s done? Finished? Completed?” I ask.

I painted my dining room last fall, but ran out of time, energy and impetus by the time I reached the kitchen. So half of the large room is Desert Sand and the other half is Aging Apricot.

For 17 years we’ve lived in a 1978 split-level that needs more TLC than we can usually muster. Due to a limited budget, our handyman and home repair staff currently consists of my husband Derek.

This handyman runs a small business and works 60 hours a week, if not more. In addition, until a few years ago, he served in the National Guard as a helicopter pilot. This meant he was gone one weekend each month and several weeks each summer. He also often flew training missions in the evenings. Did I mention he helps coach our youngest son’s soccer team?

I work less than 40 hours a week if you count the work I’m paid for. The mothering/housekeeping gig is currently on a volunteer basis. I’ve tried to unvolunteer many times, but no one will accept my resignation. Also, though I can cook and clean perfectly well, when it comes to anything requiring a hammer or screwdriver, I’m all thumbs. Let’s just say if I call my husband to ask where he keeps the wrenches, he groans and says things like, “Please, please … don’t touch anything until I get home.”

This means when you open our still-unpainted front door, you may notice half of our stairs are uncarpeted. That’s because the aging brown carpet had begun to fray, posing a safety hazard. We plan to rip out all of the upstairs carpet and replace it with hardwood flooring. Those three bare stairs mark the beginning of a dream.

It’s not like we haven’t done anything to improve our home. Derek replaced the original burnt orange T-111 siding with pretty gray vinyl. He tore out all of the inefficient metal-framed windows and installed vinyl trimmed beauties, with the exception of our bedroom window. He did cut out the sheetrock around it – eight years ago. I count it as one less window ledge to dust.

Derek also finished two bedrooms in the lower level.

Mostly.

Zack’s closet doesn’t have doors, but that’s on the list. It’s been on the list for 12 years. Closet doors are not a big priority in our house. We installed a new closet system in our bedroom several years ago. It’s also doorless.

My handy husband added a desperately needed second bathroom. It features a lovely corner shower unit. Someday, he’s going to actually plumb it – and buy a shower door.

The light fixture over my kitchen sink blew up years ago. But we’re going to install track lighting – after I paint the kitchen.

You get the picture. Friends and family who spend their free time fixing up their houses have expressed frustration at our dismal lack of progress. But neither spare cash nor spare time is readily available. Our credit card is for emergency use only. And while I think the orange carpet in our bedroom constitutes an emergency, my husband disagrees.

That’s not to say we don’t occasionally have free time. We do. But we spend it watching our sons play football or soccer. Evenings we could spend painting or ripping up carpet are often spent playing Uno around the dining room table or watching family videos with the boys.

There will come a time when days won’t be constrained by sports practices and music lessons. A time when no one brings friends over for popcorn and movies, or wants to cuddle on the couch and read aloud. A time when we’ll take a leaf out of the table and I’ll no longer cook for a crowd.

There will be hours then to complete unfinished projects and beautify our home. Our house will stay clean and uncluttered by the mess that comes with children.

On Sunday afternoon, I returned home from a business trip. I pulled into the driveway and walked past our unlandscaped lawn. I opened the door to half-carpeted stairs littered with autumn leaves and gingerly stepped over the jumbled pile of shoes in the entry way. But I didn’t grumble.

Our home may never grace the pages of Better Homes and Gardens. Indeed, it’s often a cacophony of chaos and dwindling disrepair. But there’s no place like it. And no place I’d rather be.