Let's Back Up
Okay, so I kind of started in the middle with the whole, "we're tearing down the pergolas" thing because I was all exhausted and proud at the time. But I never got to the "Why we're doing this" thing. So let's back up.
My in-laws have been living in the same enormous 6 bedroom house since they purchased it in 1979. It was great when they were raising three kids and had various other relatives living with them throughout the years, but as they grew older, it became increasingly apparent that it was just too much house for them. However, my father-in-law was firmly planted and rather stubborn, so we helped them when we could but for the most part, let them be.
When he died three years ago, it became increasingly apparent that things had to change. If it was too much house for two people, it was waaaaaay too much house for an elderly woman who had, in keeping with her generation, left most of the home maintenance to her husband.
We spent many weekends shuttling up to Rancho Penasquitos to help her sort through clutter or manage clogged toilets or spectacular water heater failures. There were lots of panicked calls to one of us at work when she couldn't turn a hose off or lock a window or had pushed the wrong button on the remote and now couldn't turn off the TV. We would sort through her mail and explain why, no, just because the envelope said, "URGENT! CALL NOW!" that didn't mean she was under any obligation to buy more life insurance, or pay for her driveway to be "sealed", or have her (non-existent) air conditioning unit serviced.
And there were also the times we weren't able to intervene. I have an entire rant about unscrupulous people taking advantage of the elderly, but I'll spare you.
Her Houston-based daughter wanted very much for Mommalinda to move to Houston and live with her family. Mommalinda went to visit a few times, loved seeing the grandkids, even met some friends from nursing school, but ultimately it was too much change and too many stairs.
One year ago, wife and I decided we were tired of renting and we were in a good enough financial situation to buy a mortgage. I mean house. As we began house-hunting, we frequently brought Mommalinda with us. A pattern began to emerge.
We looked at houses in East County - new builds with grandly useless entryways, hallways that went nowhere, and kitchens that looked stunning but would be a nightmare to actually work in. Mommalinda would walk into enormous (badly designed) walk-in closets and say, "Oh, this could be my room."
We looked at townhomes with glorious amenities and glorious HOA fees to match. Mommalinda would walk into tiny third bedrooms off the garage and say, "Oh, this could be my room."
"Jules," I kept saying. "I think she wants to live with us."
"No, she's just being silly Mom." she would tell me.
Finally, I convinced Jules that we should at least talk to her about it. Initially, she said yes, she would like to live with us, "In ten years." Ten years became five years. Five years became three or four years.
Our house-hunting focus shifted. We stopped looking at townhomes completely. (I had a little funeral for my dreams of Olympic-sized pools and on-site yoga.) We stopped looking at new construction completely. (Jules had a little funeral for her dreams of a turnkey home.)
And after a few near misses where 28 people had already made competing bids on the home we liked, we found this gem:
I fell in love with the board and batten siding, the knotty pine kitchen, the enormous picture windows, and the smart design (seriously, tract homes in the 60s were built so much smarter than tract homes today). Jules fell in love with the location and the potential tax break. We both fell in love with the enormous (by San Diego standards) backyard. What can I say, we're well-matched.
We were the second family to see it on the first day it went on the market (thanks to our amazing realtor) We made a strong bid (stronger than Jules wanted, actually) and the house was ours! (Okay, those of you who've been through this process know that it's much more complicated and stressful than that, but that's not the point of today's story.)
We did a LOT of work on this house, and I'll probably go back and capture some of that later, but that's also not the point of today's story.
Soon after we moved in, Mommalinda came to stay with us for a few months. We hadn't even finished unpacking because we were still doing some updating, but she was having some work done on her house and we were really worried about her safety with the dust and debris, so we insisted that she stay with us while it was being taken care of.
And it was fine. Okay, so she watches more Judge Judy than I would, but it was fine. She is very easygoing and easy to please, and it was such a relief to know that she was here and safe. So we moved the timeline up.
Jules researched the way only Jules can, (I'm not kidding. This woman does not mess around when it comes to hiring people.) We called Ritz Design-Build.
Ed came over. He walked the house. He talked. We talked. (Okay, so Ed and I really hit it off and we're a bad influence on each other. Both of us get sidetracked and love to tell stories. We make Jules crazy.)
We talked to Mommallinda. We asked her what she wanted in a home. Do you know what she said? you're going to squee, because it's adorable. Where my list takes up pages and pages and dozens of Pinterest boards, her list included the following:
1. My own front door so I can be independent.
2. A place to put things.
3. A place to sleep.
4. A place to cook the foods I like so you don't have to eat them.
You guys.
You guys.
Armed with her outrageous list of demands (you understand that I am being facetious, right?) we met with the INCREDIBLE designer at Ritz, Alexandra (Ali) Miller. We talked about what Mom wanted, and we talked about what we wanted for her.
Our list was a little longer:
1. Lots of natural light.
2. Cabinets and windows that were easy for her short frame to use.
3. A bathroom that can accommodate her should she ever end up in a wheelchair or needs a walker
4. Access to the yard, because she likes to go outside in the morning and smell the flowers and pick the herbs
5. A laundry area, so that she doesn't have to traipse into our (occasionally dangerous) garage when she wants to wash something.
6. A door between "our home" and "her home" that serves three purposes: One, allows her as much privacy and independence as she wants; Two, allows us to be able to get to her quickly in case of emergency; and Three, keeps the cats out of her home so that her severely allergic daughter Heidi can still come visit without having to go to the emergency room afterwards.
7. To somehow have room for the large-scale furniture that she's had for years and doesn't want to part with. (This was kind of a big one. I really wanted to try to convince her that we should buy smaller-scale furniture that would allow her a little bit more room, but eventually came to realize [thanks, Jules] that she has spent a lifetime purchasing high-quality furniture, piece by piece, and there is quite enough change happening already.)
Ali and Ritz took those requirements and suggested a few of their own:
1. A mini-split system so that she can control the temperature of her home independently from ours.
2. A tankless water heater, so she doesn't have to wait ten minutes for hot water to travel from our garage to her faucet.
And #3 is more than just one item, so it needs its own paragraph or two.
Look, I'm a designer in my own right, albeit in a different field, so I'd already spent countless hours and created dozens of Pinterest boards deciding what the roof should look like and how it should attach to the house and where the front door should be and how big the windows should be and where the bedroom should go and what the bathroom should look like and on and on and on. I'd even gone online and found modular homes that had floor plans I liked and figured we'd just build a box and plop that floor plan in it.
Having worked as a costume designer and having encountered directors and producers and actors who already had their very own specific parameters, I have a pretty good idea of how much trepidation Ali and Ritz might have had about my expectations.
The design they came up with made so much more sense than anything that was in my head. Not only that, but they are already so well-versed in the codes and setbacks and permitting process that the design they came up with was actually buildable. And, probably most importantly in terms of this whole process, was the fact that Ed and Shar and Ali were able to actually communicate to me why the window should be here instead of here, or why the place that I really wanted the front door was a really bad idea.
So now we have this:
You know what it feels like? It feels like the first week of December, when you're eight years old, and there's a present under the tree with your name on it, and you're so excited to unwrap it that you keep running over to the tree and shaking it. And then you wrap your present to your mom and dad or whomever and you're so excited for them to unwrap it that you keep dropping hints, even though you want it to be a surprise.
And it's going to be the first week of December for the next six months.
You've been warned.
My in-laws have been living in the same enormous 6 bedroom house since they purchased it in 1979. It was great when they were raising three kids and had various other relatives living with them throughout the years, but as they grew older, it became increasingly apparent that it was just too much house for them. However, my father-in-law was firmly planted and rather stubborn, so we helped them when we could but for the most part, let them be.
When he died three years ago, it became increasingly apparent that things had to change. If it was too much house for two people, it was waaaaaay too much house for an elderly woman who had, in keeping with her generation, left most of the home maintenance to her husband.
We spent many weekends shuttling up to Rancho Penasquitos to help her sort through clutter or manage clogged toilets or spectacular water heater failures. There were lots of panicked calls to one of us at work when she couldn't turn a hose off or lock a window or had pushed the wrong button on the remote and now couldn't turn off the TV. We would sort through her mail and explain why, no, just because the envelope said, "URGENT! CALL NOW!" that didn't mean she was under any obligation to buy more life insurance, or pay for her driveway to be "sealed", or have her (non-existent) air conditioning unit serviced.
And there were also the times we weren't able to intervene. I have an entire rant about unscrupulous people taking advantage of the elderly, but I'll spare you.
Her Houston-based daughter wanted very much for Mommalinda to move to Houston and live with her family. Mommalinda went to visit a few times, loved seeing the grandkids, even met some friends from nursing school, but ultimately it was too much change and too many stairs.
One year ago, wife and I decided we were tired of renting and we were in a good enough financial situation to buy a mortgage. I mean house. As we began house-hunting, we frequently brought Mommalinda with us. A pattern began to emerge.
We looked at houses in East County - new builds with grandly useless entryways, hallways that went nowhere, and kitchens that looked stunning but would be a nightmare to actually work in. Mommalinda would walk into enormous (badly designed) walk-in closets and say, "Oh, this could be my room."
We looked at townhomes with glorious amenities and glorious HOA fees to match. Mommalinda would walk into tiny third bedrooms off the garage and say, "Oh, this could be my room."
"Jules," I kept saying. "I think she wants to live with us."
"No, she's just being silly Mom." she would tell me.
Finally, I convinced Jules that we should at least talk to her about it. Initially, she said yes, she would like to live with us, "In ten years." Ten years became five years. Five years became three or four years.
Our house-hunting focus shifted. We stopped looking at townhomes completely. (I had a little funeral for my dreams of Olympic-sized pools and on-site yoga.) We stopped looking at new construction completely. (Jules had a little funeral for her dreams of a turnkey home.)
And after a few near misses where 28 people had already made competing bids on the home we liked, we found this gem:
 |
| Do you hear that? That's choirs of angels singing. |
We were the second family to see it on the first day it went on the market (thanks to our amazing realtor) We made a strong bid (stronger than Jules wanted, actually) and the house was ours! (Okay, those of you who've been through this process know that it's much more complicated and stressful than that, but that's not the point of today's story.)
We did a LOT of work on this house, and I'll probably go back and capture some of that later, but that's also not the point of today's story.
Soon after we moved in, Mommalinda came to stay with us for a few months. We hadn't even finished unpacking because we were still doing some updating, but she was having some work done on her house and we were really worried about her safety with the dust and debris, so we insisted that she stay with us while it was being taken care of.
And it was fine. Okay, so she watches more Judge Judy than I would, but it was fine. She is very easygoing and easy to please, and it was such a relief to know that she was here and safe. So we moved the timeline up.
Jules researched the way only Jules can, (I'm not kidding. This woman does not mess around when it comes to hiring people.) We called Ritz Design-Build.
Ed came over. He walked the house. He talked. We talked. (Okay, so Ed and I really hit it off and we're a bad influence on each other. Both of us get sidetracked and love to tell stories. We make Jules crazy.)
We talked to Mommallinda. We asked her what she wanted in a home. Do you know what she said? you're going to squee, because it's adorable. Where my list takes up pages and pages and dozens of Pinterest boards, her list included the following:
1. My own front door so I can be independent.
2. A place to put things.
3. A place to sleep.
4. A place to cook the foods I like so you don't have to eat them.
You guys.
You guys.
Armed with her outrageous list of demands (you understand that I am being facetious, right?) we met with the INCREDIBLE designer at Ritz, Alexandra (Ali) Miller. We talked about what Mom wanted, and we talked about what we wanted for her.
Our list was a little longer:
1. Lots of natural light.
2. Cabinets and windows that were easy for her short frame to use.
3. A bathroom that can accommodate her should she ever end up in a wheelchair or needs a walker
4. Access to the yard, because she likes to go outside in the morning and smell the flowers and pick the herbs
5. A laundry area, so that she doesn't have to traipse into our (occasionally dangerous) garage when she wants to wash something.
6. A door between "our home" and "her home" that serves three purposes: One, allows her as much privacy and independence as she wants; Two, allows us to be able to get to her quickly in case of emergency; and Three, keeps the cats out of her home so that her severely allergic daughter Heidi can still come visit without having to go to the emergency room afterwards.
7. To somehow have room for the large-scale furniture that she's had for years and doesn't want to part with. (This was kind of a big one. I really wanted to try to convince her that we should buy smaller-scale furniture that would allow her a little bit more room, but eventually came to realize [thanks, Jules] that she has spent a lifetime purchasing high-quality furniture, piece by piece, and there is quite enough change happening already.)
Ali and Ritz took those requirements and suggested a few of their own:
1. A mini-split system so that she can control the temperature of her home independently from ours.
2. A tankless water heater, so she doesn't have to wait ten minutes for hot water to travel from our garage to her faucet.
And #3 is more than just one item, so it needs its own paragraph or two.
Look, I'm a designer in my own right, albeit in a different field, so I'd already spent countless hours and created dozens of Pinterest boards deciding what the roof should look like and how it should attach to the house and where the front door should be and how big the windows should be and where the bedroom should go and what the bathroom should look like and on and on and on. I'd even gone online and found modular homes that had floor plans I liked and figured we'd just build a box and plop that floor plan in it.
Having worked as a costume designer and having encountered directors and producers and actors who already had their very own specific parameters, I have a pretty good idea of how much trepidation Ali and Ritz might have had about my expectations.
The design they came up with made so much more sense than anything that was in my head. Not only that, but they are already so well-versed in the codes and setbacks and permitting process that the design they came up with was actually buildable. And, probably most importantly in terms of this whole process, was the fact that Ed and Shar and Ali were able to actually communicate to me why the window should be here instead of here, or why the place that I really wanted the front door was a really bad idea.
So now we have this:
 |
| Do you hear that? The choirs of angels have written a new song just for us! |
You know what it feels like? It feels like the first week of December, when you're eight years old, and there's a present under the tree with your name on it, and you're so excited to unwrap it that you keep running over to the tree and shaking it. And then you wrap your present to your mom and dad or whomever and you're so excited for them to unwrap it that you keep dropping hints, even though you want it to be a surprise.
And it's going to be the first week of December for the next six months.
You've been warned.
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