Lemondrop

Moving costs a crapload of money. I had a vague sense that we would be shelling out some cash in this process, but I truly had no idea how much until everything got going.

All this when we'll be minus one income very soon, as my husband quit his job this week. We discussed it -- I knew it was happening, and I thought I was prepared. But actually giving up his salary, benefits and insurance was a giant slap in the face to let me know that this thing is happening. Like, now.

Needless to say, this week I got super freaking motivated to get stuff done.

Trying to Beat the Odds
Unless your reading material consists only of "Vogue" and "US Weekly," you're probably aware that our country's housing market is undergoing a small "correction." As far as I can tell, that's Realtor-speak for totally FUBAR.

There are four houses on our block for sale, so we're basically doing everything short of gold-plating our crib to make it more attractive to buyers.

Click here to read about Eliza's pre-move binge-and-purge plan.

The Binge and Purge Plan
I've divided our to-do list into two categories, which I'm affectionately referring to as "bingeing" -- loading up on nice stuff to make the place more desirable -- and "purging" -- getting rid of anything we don't need before the move.

You have to binge before you can purge, and we have been on a massive bender recently. It's surprising how much wear and tear can happen in a mere four years to one house. Despite the fact that my husband and I are both intelligent adults, each with two working arms, half of the things we need fixed have to be done by professionals.

The new carpet was the easy part. In retrospect, I think the friendly salesman and fast installation gave us a false sense of confidence. It was all so simple that we thought we'd continue our home-improvement high and get the hardwood floors redone as well. That's where things got ugly.

Lacquer Luster
I don't know how many of you Lemondroppers have ever succumbed to the lure of refinished hardwood, it's similar to buying a diamond. You don't think about the exorbitant cost, or how dozens of underpaid, malnourished people get harmed in the process. You just think, "Oooh ... shiny!"

For five days we were prisoners in our bedroom, eating takeout and doing dishes in the bathroom sink, while we waited for the sanding, staining, re-staining and sealing. Our stressed-out dog wondered why she was confined to one room. Chemical fumes have probably done permanent damage to our respiratory systems.

But the floors are finally freaking done, and all I can think is, "Oooh ... shiny!" And they're going to stay that way, come hell or high water. I have utterly terrified my family, friends and husband: You will not walk on the floor in hard-soled shoes. You will not look at the floor with a hard glare. In fact, if you could find a way to hover over the floor while holding your breath with your eyes closed, that'd be excellent.

A Beacon of Hope
We haven't even started on all the projects outside the house. My favorite is a rotting beam that's the sole object preventing the back half of our home from tumbling into the canyon below. I live smack in the middle of earthquake country, so you can see how this may be an important factor.

The only fortunate thing about this process is that ... pause for the choir of angels ... we actually found a good contractor. He's licensed, bonded, shows up on time and is fully capable of doing every last project we put in front of him. I don't know what slice of heaven spit out this divine creature, but it seriously made me think twice about moving.

I've grown so dependent on this amazing resource that he may find himself hog-tied in my trunk and relocating to Vegas with us. In the meantime, we're milking him for all he can give us, including rebuilding the rotting beam, re-paving the crumbling brick deck, fixing a few windows and doors, et cetera, et cetera.

In my next post, I'll update you on the purging process ...