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"&amp;quot;Careful, that wall&amp;#039;s still wet,&amp;quot; my husband warned me as I rushed down the basement stairs toward my office \u2013 my new home office, which was completed back in October, along with much of the rest of the house. Well, the rest of the house except my husband&amp;#039;s new project: the basement where my office used to be. And I want nothing to do with it. Pete promises that it&amp;#039;s going to be a wonderful space for him and the kids. I, on the other hand, refuse to acknowledge its existence. It is to me what Palestine is to the Israeli government. As far as I&amp;#039;m concerned, all construction should be done around here. After six (okay, eight) months of hammering, drilling, sanding and cursing throughout our house, I&amp;#039;ve had enough. But Pete has other plans. I guess I should be happy that he decided to do much of the job by himself. We don&amp;#039;t need another bill from our contractor, and I don&amp;#039;t need a bunch men making noise a few feet from my desk. Still. Instead, I&amp;#039;ve got just one man working feverishly on his masterpiece, much like Richard Dreyfuss in &amp;quot;Close Encounters&amp;quot; \u2013 and just as messy, too. When he&amp;#039;s working on the basement, I try to sneak through the construction zone with my tea and the phone, but he stops me. &amp;quot;What color for the walls?&amp;quot; he asks. &amp;quot;French Vanilla or Sun Wash?&amp;quot; I try to appear interested. &amp;quot;Oh, French Vanilla, definitely.&amp;quot; And then I attempt to scooch into my new office, but he has more to say. &amp;quot;Can you hold up this sheetrock for me?&amp;quot; And he has more to buy. This month, his credit card bill read like a script for &amp;quot;Flip That House&amp;quot;: Lowe&amp;#039;s, ceiling tile supplier, liquor store. Next month, I suppose he&amp;#039;ll add the chiropractor to the bill. Also, vacuum bags, and lots of them. Yet I worked in that area of our house for the better part of the past 13 years without nice French Vanilla walls or fresh ceiling tiles, and it was perfectly fine for me. I don&amp;#039;t know why it needs updating, especially now. After six (okay, eight) months of being summoned to look at windows and tiles and sheetrock, I&amp;#039;m rather over it all. I&amp;#039;m ready for the aliens to take me into their ship, but Pete&amp;#039;s still working on his masterpiece. In the coming weeks, I&amp;#039;m simply going to have to put up with even more hammering, drilling, sanding and cursing. But when it&amp;#039;s all over, I&amp;#039;ll sure have a nice place to pass through on my way to work. Until then, I&amp;#039;ll be careful. The walls are still wet. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.goodhousekeeping.com/life/parenting/a20330/good-grief-010908/?src=shelter_footer>