Empty Nest, Full House

A Midlife Renovation Project

I am writing this to you in our eerily empty house, sitting on a stepladder at our twin desk surrounded by bare walls and echoing spaces.

This is the summer when my home renovation plans finally kicked in. Everyone said renovating a house would take longer and cost more than expected. But the other glitches? Those blindsided us.

Let me back up.

We moved into this house 14 years ago with two school-aged boys. A few of the defining features of the house are the rooftop terrace, a sauna, and a built-in, tile-clad, wood-burning oven. It also has a granny suite, which was always rented, bringing in an extra source of income. Back then we redid the basement, slapped on some paint and moved three streets over. A few years ago we renovated the kitchen and redid the surface of the rooftop terrace.

Over time, I indulged my passion for collectibles: flea market finds, single Wedgwood teacups, handmade Swedish vases, plants, vintage coats and bags, new clothes, shoes, boots, lamps, magazines, and more books. Stuff crammed into cupboards and drawers. We had books in six rooms, sometimes stacked on the floor. I started to envy those influencers with hairbrushes in one container, makeup brushes in another, everything in its place. We are empty nesters but still hoard the boys’ baseball mitts, hockey equipment, Legos, games, and books.

A girl can never have too many bangles? Wrong. The mocha cup is from a set we bought at the Beijing Friendship Store, circa 1988.

The house was showing its age - dingy ceiling corners, scruffy parquet flooring and sad fibre wallpaper.

We love our house, but it was time for a change. It was time to cull.

When our tenant in the granny suite gave notice, we saw an opportunity. The plan: renovate the suite, move in temporarily, and give the main house a facelift.

I always liked the idea of a tiny house. Six weeks in a two-room apartment would test that theory - and our marriage. I joked that one of us would return to the house and one would stay in the guest flat. Guess who?

Three weeks ago, the reno began. Instantly, we hit snags. Hidden water damage. Mold. Two layers of wallpaper stuck with silicon kleister. Our two-week job stretched to three and counting.

Peter spent days packing his library, including 20 boxes to donate. I make several runs to the Red Cross to drop off donations. The sauna became a temporary shoe storage space with me promising to sell on Vinted or Etsy.

Peter’s bibliotheque.

We leave items on the street for passersby, like the black and white photos of New York that the previous tenant left on the walls of the granny.

The chaos takes its toll. Peter struggles to part with books. I’m less attached, but we draw the line at trashing them. Both of us are knackered from lifting and packing, sorting and collecting.

I wish I had taken the entire week off work.

We part with an IKEA Billy that housed my pink, red, blue and yellow books in the upstairs hallway. I don’t want a bookshelf there again. I want open lines of traffic. I’m eyeing this cool shelving system from Tylko for the study and spare bedroom. Which design do you like?

A chest of drawers with a heavy marble top in the southern German Landhaus style is also put out on the street.

A young mom who lives in the neighbourhood stops to admire the dresser and later comes back with her father, mother, husband, aunt, sister-in-law and two small girls to pick it up.

As the moving van pulls away, Peter asks what I'd miss if the truck landed in the river. Nothing. Then we realize his suitcase for the summer had been loaded by mistake. He found enough clothes in the laundry room, thankfully. I said I was sorry but I had to laugh too.

The worst is over. Or so we think.

Just as we have ordered drinks at our local beer garden, Peter gets a emergency call from the contractor, who is in our granny suite in excruciating pain. He was rushed to the hospital for surgery that night.

Now we're camping in our empty house with a bed, a desk and a sofa. It's oddly freeing, living with just the essentials. I find myself wandering the echoey rooms, wondering what to do next. With nothing here, there are no distractions.

I've gone full cleaning mode, scrubbing years of dust from neglected corners. It's unglamorous work, but satisfying.

Next challenge? Paint colors. Peter said, "You can do what you want." (Words that bring me great joy). I want a marigold dining room where we get the morning sun and spend a lot of time at the table. I think it would offset the dark cabinets nicely. Imperial Yellow. We've only ever had white walls, and I can't even explain the hair color I want to my stylist. This cannot go wrong. Not like the time I wanted cerise walls in my study and got milky bubblegum instead.

What colour should we paint the dining room walls? I’m thinking marigold/imperial yellow.

Let me know your experience with paint and choosing colours.

Change is fun, but stressful.

This renovation is pushing us to reassess and declutter. Sometimes you need to empty your house to gain perspective.

Problem is, all that stuff will come back…

Have you done this before? Let me know your thoughts and suggestions in the comments.

xxAngela