Home Update for Almost-Empty Nesters

The cats and I hide out in my son's bedroom as dust rises from the first floor, sending us all into sneezing fits. Construction crew members stomp in and out of ground floor doors, ripping out damaged flooring and cleaning the subfloor before installing the new wood. This project - the first major work we've done on the interior of our home after twenty years of residence - is long-awaited but disconcerting. The cats grooming themselves next to me provided impetus after destroying the downstairs carpet, and we decided to update the house so we can enjoy it now rather than wait until we're close to a retirement-age sale.

Though we can be in the house while it's being updated, the noise and dust and general dismay of seeing our home dismantled makes for an uneasy week. Compounding my unsettled state are feelings of guilt over spending money, over the waste that we create by throwing out old materials. I've watched friends and neighbors do major projects over the years and always shied away, but twenty years of wear and tear shows in our baseboards, paint, and floors. When we moved here our two oldest children were three and eighteen months, now they are independent (almost) adults and we are (almost) empty-nesters. 

Bannisters treated like monkey bars, carpeting used for picnic blankets, proliferating litter boxes, and grooves worn by hundreds of thousands of exits and entrances all show in our home. We don't entertain much, but we certainly use our space. During the pandemic it became our world, home office, gym, and respite. I'm more attached than I've ever been to a residence - it's the longest I have ever lived in one place. Though we don't technically need the space any longer, and our kids' bedroom furniture is obsolete, we won't be leaving any time soon. 

We're even updating room arrangements and rugs, a change that dismays our youngest son. He wants everything to stay as it was, an impossible task in a world where sands shift hourly and attention flits from new to newer. My attention is focused on how few additional dollars might be required to create a sense of newness (maybe we can raid the kids' bedrooms), but excitement grips me as I think about change. Almost empty - nesters we might be, but our nest will be well-feathered.