It's the waiting that gets you. The not knowing.
Today, allegedly, is the first full day of our new building project. I say allegedly, because it's almost 10.00am and the only the thing that has happened is that our neighbour occasionally sticks his head out to see if anything interesting is happening.
More than 18 months ago, literally a lifetime ago, my husband and I sat down and decided we would add some rooms upstairs. We are planning for the distant future, when we have two (or possibly three?) teen aged children. I remember being a teenager. I was hideous. And there is no way I want to be sharing a bathroom with two (or possibly three?) hideous teenage girls. My husband doesn't even like sharing a bathroom with them now.
And let's be honest, they won't be moving out before they're 30. I don't see how anyone will be able to afford houses in the future, so assuming that we will be sharing the house with multiple offspring, boyfriends and girlfriends, hangers-on, cousins, aunties, exchange students and the inevitable dog, I will need at least a few more walls separating me from them. And my own bathroom.
I won't be naming the company we engaged, just in case this whole process is all too much and I start slandering them accidentally on purpose. But today was meant to be the first day on site. I was expecting truck loads of tradies, mountains of materials, a chorus of curses and a glamorous porta-loo to converge on our property and start building my new life. Nothing.
You know the scene from Westerns, where the birds circle overhead in complete silence. That's us.
I don't know why I am so surprised. It's not as though anything has gone smoothly up to this point (but that's the subject of another post). Yet I continue to hope, and I continue to wait. Hopefully I will have something to report soon.
(5 second later)
My god! There is a man outside my window. And yes, it is a builder and not some random peeping tom. Talk about heart attack.
And that, dear readers, is why we must never lose hope.