We have (some) cabinets!
That was as of last night, actually. By the time I left to take Ike to school we already had a few more, and the foyer looked like it was getting the final prep for tile. IT'S ALL HAPPENING.
It turns out getting your kitchen remodeled is a bit like being pregnant. "How long will it take?" is the new "So what's your birth plan?" and then everybody really just wants to talk about how they were in labor for 175 hours before an unmedicated breech birth and also THEIR kitchen remodel started five years ago and STILL isn't done, so ha ha good luck with your "two to three weeks" and also your vaginal delivery.
So far, so good, is all I can and will say. It probably helps that we're not doing any major structural changes, and also that the house isn't that old so we're free of the "WHOOPS THAT'S A LOAD BEARING WALL THAT IS MOST DEFINITELY NOT BEARING THE LOAD" snafus you get with older (or previously remodeled but maaaaybe not done very well) houses.
(Our old condo in the city was built as a dormitory for war workers in the 1940s, then went through conversions to apartments and then condos. Remodeling our tiny postage stamp of a kitchen unearthed more delightful "quirks" per square foot than we ever thought possible.)
Of course, there's still plenty of time for a horror story plotline to emerge, a story I will keep on the tip of my tongue when I ask you how long your kitchen remodel will take, because ha ha good luck with that, hope you enjoy washing dishes in bathtubs* for awhile.
In other news, we finally discovered the source of a terrible smell in the master bedroom closet. We thought Ceiba was sneaking in there to pee on the carpet, but the carpet never seemed wet. We kept steamcleaning it anyway, but the smell lingered.
This morning we solved the mystery. The closet is very roomy but drawer-challenged, with just a lot of big shelves for awkwardly piling clothes on. To stop the clothes pile avalanches that were happening on the regular, I put everything in bins or baskets. But then I got tired of pulling down my basket of workout clothing from the top shelf, and just left it on the floor.
Turns out Max thought that basket of workout clothes was a bonus litter box, and was going in there to pee on them. Ask me how I found out. GO ON AND ASK ME.
"Why do my sports bra and yoga pants feel kinda damp? And why do I smell like cat pee?" <-- Terrific questions to ask yourself on a Tuesday morning.
*Or, you know, not. We've just been on a Waste Bender with paper plates and plastic cups and utensils. I have a few bowls and cups piled up in the powder room from the first couple days when we'd forget to grab something disposable. They are by the sink, which gives the APPEARANCE that I intend to wash them, but really I'm probably just gonna let them sit there until I have the dishwasher back because I am one lazy-ass motherfucker.