As another installment in our pre-Melbourne preparations, today's entry is about getting our home ready for the renters.
Like those people who furiously clean their homes the day before the cleaning lady arrives, we have been busy attending to all of the little things that needed to be done in order to make our home look and feel liveable. Many of those little things such as painting the trim or cleaning the walls or replacing bricks on the interlocking brick driveway (yes, I really did that) were actually completed in advance of anyone renting our home. And now that we actually have a family committed to renting our place, I have become even more motivated to fix it up and make it feel like the home we know it is. Linton might say, obsessively so.
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It's actually amazing what you start to notice and decide to fix when someone, whether you know them or not, is going to be living in your house. And it's not like the primping and fluffing you might do in advance of a dinner party or your in laws imminent arrival. This reconnaissance mission of going into the corners - the deep, dark, and sometimes dank places in your very own home - is a serious and yet quite fulfilling exercise.
Take the iron fence posts that have lived behind our tool shed for the past six years and who knows how many years before we came along. I have tripped over them, stored things on top of them, buried them, cursed them, thought about getting rid of them (twice), tripped over them again, cursed them again but never, never have I really had a real reason to act until we rented our home. Then it was a no-brainer. Then they had to go - now. Yesterday. The 1-800-guys-with-the-truck could not get here fast enough. I even helped them throw them into the back of the truck and paid top dollar to send them on their way. And now, I have the satisfaction of knowing that those dirty, metal, good-for-nothing fence posts are no longer a threat to the good people renting our home. Phew! That was a close one! And that's really only the tip of the iceberg.
We ( read I) have fretted over many, many mostly minor touch ups that have only suddenly occured to us in the last few months - what with our renters moving in and all. Now everything appears through a renter-filter. Would they want to lie on the floor in the living room and look into that corner and see that chipped stucco? If they look underneath the banister they will see that we didn't paint it! Do you think we plant the white and pink annuals or will just the white do? If I don't wipe the dust off the top of the picture frames will they back out of the rental agreement? There has not been a day go by in the last few months where I have not thought about how the house would appear - to the renters. And then, of course, there is the case of the green chair!
Our beloved green chair was a wonderful wedding gift that had become a very big part of the family. It had been there in the early days of marriage - helping to nurse Alex and Colin through breast feeding and bottles. It had played host to any number of wild Friday night parties where Lint and I would make some popcorn and crack a beer and then cram ourselves together into that chair to watch some movie during which I would inevitably fall asleep and upon waking would often discover I had spilled my drink all over myself and the green chair. There were tonnes of spit ups, probably some pee-ups(?) and gosh knows what else that little kids can get on their fingers and then wipe onto a piece of furniture. I am convinced there are several Hot wheels, a gallon of popcorn, various Lego pieces, a bit of Playmobil, a library book or two, at least $100 in loose change, and maybe even a decent sized stuffed animal all contained within the belly of that chair.
I had been grousing about getting rid of it for awhile and Lint had been a little less keen. Why get rid of it and spend money on something new only to have the renters wreck it? It was and still is a fairly sound and practical position that I didn't disagree with in principle. And yet, I loathed the green chair. I was embarrassed by it. I spent Saturday mornings cruising The Brick flyers ooohing and ahhing at the various sales trying to sway Lint's opinion. I would slow down in front of The Art Shoppe to point out things that would "go nicely where the green chair is". But still no nibbles. It wasn't until we were strangely alone in IKEA that the green chair's fate was sealed.
We were in the leather section. We were tired and frustrated about price and choice and look and whatever else was giving us purchase paralysis when I casually wandered over to the leather couch section. There it was. Nirvana in real naugahyde. It was perfect. The perfect piece, with accompanying and equally perfect little ottoman. My gas the green chair prayers had been answered. And incredibly Lint was on the same page. We were on the same page. We were going to replace the green chair - regardless of cost. Damn it, we rationalized, who cares if we have renters! We work hard, we deserve this! In point of fact, who's kidding who? We were really buying it for them.
And so the green chair has gone to greener pastures in another home and we are now a leather furniture owning family. I never thought I would be, but so far so good. The furniture works, it looks and smells new, and I am happy. I am happy the green chair is gone. I am happy we have actually purchased something we wanted. And I am happy because Linton and I both wanted to do this. However, mostly I am happy because what I think we have really done has been to say - we like our home, we are proud of home, we like it to look nice AND we hope you will, too.
So we fix up our house and clean the grout and plant flowers and paint the trim and dust the blinds and organize my nail jars and buy a new leather couch because in the end, I believe a loved house will be cared for far better than a neglected one. And that little leather couch sends a lotta love...
Like those people who furiously clean their homes the day before the cleaning lady arrives, we have been busy attending to all of the little things that needed to be done in order to make our home look and feel liveable. Many of those little things such as painting the trim or cleaning the walls or replacing bricks on the interlocking brick driveway (yes, I really did that) were actually completed in advance of anyone renting our home. And now that we actually have a family committed to renting our place, I have become even more motivated to fix it up and make it feel like the home we know it is. Linton might say, obsessively so.
-
It's actually amazing what you start to notice and decide to fix when someone, whether you know them or not, is going to be living in your house. And it's not like the primping and fluffing you might do in advance of a dinner party or your in laws imminent arrival. This reconnaissance mission of going into the corners - the deep, dark, and sometimes dank places in your very own home - is a serious and yet quite fulfilling exercise.
Take the iron fence posts that have lived behind our tool shed for the past six years and who knows how many years before we came along. I have tripped over them, stored things on top of them, buried them, cursed them, thought about getting rid of them (twice), tripped over them again, cursed them again but never, never have I really had a real reason to act until we rented our home. Then it was a no-brainer. Then they had to go - now. Yesterday. The 1-800-guys-with-the-truck could not get here fast enough. I even helped them throw them into the back of the truck and paid top dollar to send them on their way. And now, I have the satisfaction of knowing that those dirty, metal, good-for-nothing fence posts are no longer a threat to the good people renting our home. Phew! That was a close one! And that's really only the tip of the iceberg.
We ( read I) have fretted over many, many mostly minor touch ups that have only suddenly occured to us in the last few months - what with our renters moving in and all. Now everything appears through a renter-filter. Would they want to lie on the floor in the living room and look into that corner and see that chipped stucco? If they look underneath the banister they will see that we didn't paint it! Do you think we plant the white and pink annuals or will just the white do? If I don't wipe the dust off the top of the picture frames will they back out of the rental agreement? There has not been a day go by in the last few months where I have not thought about how the house would appear - to the renters. And then, of course, there is the case of the green chair!
Our beloved green chair was a wonderful wedding gift that had become a very big part of the family. It had been there in the early days of marriage - helping to nurse Alex and Colin through breast feeding and bottles. It had played host to any number of wild Friday night parties where Lint and I would make some popcorn and crack a beer and then cram ourselves together into that chair to watch some movie during which I would inevitably fall asleep and upon waking would often discover I had spilled my drink all over myself and the green chair. There were tonnes of spit ups, probably some pee-ups(?) and gosh knows what else that little kids can get on their fingers and then wipe onto a piece of furniture. I am convinced there are several Hot wheels, a gallon of popcorn, various Lego pieces, a bit of Playmobil, a library book or two, at least $100 in loose change, and maybe even a decent sized stuffed animal all contained within the belly of that chair.
I had been grousing about getting rid of it for awhile and Lint had been a little less keen. Why get rid of it and spend money on something new only to have the renters wreck it? It was and still is a fairly sound and practical position that I didn't disagree with in principle. And yet, I loathed the green chair. I was embarrassed by it. I spent Saturday mornings cruising The Brick flyers ooohing and ahhing at the various sales trying to sway Lint's opinion. I would slow down in front of The Art Shoppe to point out things that would "go nicely where the green chair is". But still no nibbles. It wasn't until we were strangely alone in IKEA that the green chair's fate was sealed.
We were in the leather section. We were tired and frustrated about price and choice and look and whatever else was giving us purchase paralysis when I casually wandered over to the leather couch section. There it was. Nirvana in real naugahyde. It was perfect. The perfect piece, with accompanying and equally perfect little ottoman. My gas the green chair prayers had been answered. And incredibly Lint was on the same page. We were on the same page. We were going to replace the green chair - regardless of cost. Damn it, we rationalized, who cares if we have renters! We work hard, we deserve this! In point of fact, who's kidding who? We were really buying it for them.
And so the green chair has gone to greener pastures in another home and we are now a leather furniture owning family. I never thought I would be, but so far so good. The furniture works, it looks and smells new, and I am happy. I am happy the green chair is gone. I am happy we have actually purchased something we wanted. And I am happy because Linton and I both wanted to do this. However, mostly I am happy because what I think we have really done has been to say - we like our home, we are proud of home, we like it to look nice AND we hope you will, too.
So we fix up our house and clean the grout and plant flowers and paint the trim and dust the blinds and organize my nail jars and buy a new leather couch because in the end, I believe a loved house will be cared for far better than a neglected one. And that little leather couch sends a lotta love...
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