Seriously, there are like ten hot guys here right now.

And they’re all wearing leather tool belts that slightly drag their carhardt khakis just low enough so I can almost see some crack. I love me some carpenter crack. This week has been a most welcomed hurricane of activity and noise. I’ll never again doubt the old axioms “you get what you pay for” or “good things come to those who wait.” We doubted paying a higher premium for a highly recommended contractor because we’re tightfisted little misers who like spending the bank’s money on things like Xbox games and shoes, not new roofs. Neither of us are terribly patient people and we’d all but given up on Mr. 2X4 and his fancy air hammer. But as I’ve said, we waited. And waited. And waited. No sooner did we sign on the dotted line did we hear the sounds of sweet demolition. At 7:00 am.

It’s been nearly one week and this dude is like Bob the Builder on speed. Back porch? Gone. New front room? Framed and usable. Two new rooms downstairs? Framed, wired, heated and dry-walled. Front yard? Leveled to grade. My head? Spinning.

My kids and husband return home from their respective places never knowing what will have changed in the past eight hours. It’s like Christmas every day.

I’m so freaking happy with my noisy dusty mess of a house.