We bought a house. Well a duplex actually. A long, tall, beautiful, four story victorian dream. It was decrepit, it was falling apart, it was everything we were looking for. With a naiveté fueled by too many hours watching home renovation shows, we hired a great architect and drew up a wish list. New windows! A wine cellar! Skylights! 3 bathrooms! New kitchen! Move the stair case! New balconies! New brickwork! Landscaping! It was going to be breathtaking. It was going to be fabulous. It was going to be four times our budget.
Yet our dream remained intact, it would just be achieved in stages. Intent on doing things right, we hired a general contractor and watched from the sidelines as the fourth story was transformed from something out of the Blair Witch project to something more reminiscent of a Greenwich Village brownstone.
We were thrilled but broke. Our $125 000 had bought us one story replete with new plumbing and electrical, a raised ceiling and newly insulated roof, replaced an old skylight, rid us of an old shed in the back yard and afforded us some new brick work. A drop in the bucket as the house is still falling apart.
We had blown our entire budget and then some. As we planned our next move, we laid low for a year, had our second child and hoped that all the good vibes from our loving family would somehow rub off on the house. Well, love may conquer all, but it knows diddly about living in a ruin.
We were ready for the next phase. We gave our tenant notice, doubled up on reno shows, devoured decorating magazines, scoured the internet for DIY renovation tips and planned our vacation around the demo work. Not to mention an entire FOUR MONTHS experience watching how the pros had renovated the fourth floor.
We could do it too, right?
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