I’m sitting in bed reading the other night when Dan leans over and says, “I like that.” He’s looking at a tear just above the knee of my pajamas. I think he’s feeling romantic until he adds, “It tells me you’re saving money.”
Something has left a marriage when a pajama rip makes your husband think of thrift, not lust. But that’s what home remodeling will do to you.
Thrift is our mantra these days as we try to finish the basement before also finishing our marriage and savings. The three-month project started in fall 2004. Eighteen months later, we’re living off the canned goods in the bin we created for disasters, which seems apt. The kids wear torn jeans to school, which fortunately happen to be the style. And you know the condition of my sleepwear.
The original vision was to turn 2,400 square feet of raw, cement-lined space (picture the hole Saddam Hussein hid in), into something livable. We created a design, got a bid from a reputable contractor who specialized in basements, saw the price, sobbed and weighed selling everything to live in a Wyoming shack like the one Unabomber Ted Kaczynski left.
Then Dan got the brainy idea to be our own contractor. We’d do some work ourselves, hire other jobs out and save a bundle. Being a loving, supportive wife, I told him he had suffered a brain aneurysm and to go lie down. Being a loving, supportive husband, he ignored me. He got Punch software, which lets you create building plans. He took his plans to the county, got approval and a permit, then rudely stuck out his tongue.
Next came a stream of workers. For months we had more pickups parked out front than a cowboy bar. The fire sprinkler guys came, the plumber, the electrician, the framers, the fireplace installer, and between each the inspector, who repeatedly shook his head at our audacity. On the floor between the front door and basement lay a permanent set of boot tracks. But the worst part was this: Many thousands of dollars later, the basement looked worse. I pined for the days when the space was pristine, unadulterated cement, and our bank accounts were somewhat lined. Now the space was a jumble of exposed two-by-fours, pipes, ducts and loose wires – a 3-D montage of my life.
“It’s awesome,” Dan said.
“It’s hideous,” I said.
“It always looks worse before it looks better.”
“Why are we doing this again?”
“Because,” he said, in a voice he uses on 5-year-olds, “finishing existing space is the least expensive way to add square footage to your home, which adds value.”
I repeat this sentence three times a day while applying anti-aging cream.
Meanwhile, Dan – fueled by too many episodes of “This Old House” – installs insulation and hangs the drywall, which takes months because, thank heaven, he has a day job. After that, we hired the big guns. Literally. Two men arrived wearing spacesuits and carrying guns the size of fire hoses. They shot wads of gunk all over the drywall (the buckets actually said “Wads of Goo”), and called it “texturing.” I took care not to wear orange that day in case one of the guys was Dick Cheney.
The next person who asks how our basement is coming, is going to get textured. February, we picked all our finishes and entered the home stretch, a good name for it. We added up what we spent, plus what we will spend on paint, trim, tile, carpet and cabinets. The total was less than half the original contractor’s estimate. We felt smug for about five minutes, then realized we had no money left for furniture.
Here are some of the ways – not all of them recommended – that we saved.
We acted as our own contractor. Not a move for everyone. I’ve built houses with contractors before who were excellent, knowledgeable and worth the money. Unless you don’t have the money.
We did what we could ourselves (insulation, drywall hanging, painting, job oversight). For other work, we hired pros, getting at least two bids for each project. We asked the subcontractors for ideas on how we could save.
We asked suppliers for builder’s pricing. Not every company will do this, but some will, particularly if you’re buying in builder quantities. We got 30-40 percent off retail for drywall, trim and light fixtures.
We measured carefully and used materials frugally. Builders are accustomed to waste factors. For instance, we had two pros measure and estimate the amount of drywall needed. Both estimated 300 sheets. We ordered 300. But Dan made efficient cuts and used scraps that most pros would throw away. We returned 80 sheets for a $600 credit, some of which I’ll put toward new pajamas.
Marni Jameson is a nationally syndicated columnist who lives in the Denver area. Contact her through marnijameson.com.
