The DIY Summer of '24
From Relaxation to Renovation Before We Even Unpacked - Part 1
Imagine that you promise your family the "Ultimate Summer Vacation," only to have it all fall apart on day one... out of 45.
I had spent months (actually, an entire year) planning this trip.
I painted them a picture of a lavish journey through paradise, complete with country club amenities. I told them they’d finally get to stay in the house where I grew up: a charming home with a quaint front yard and a beautiful ficus tree where I once had many adventures.
The bar was set high, and everyone looked forward to a much-needed escape.
Work had been stressful for both Tania and me.
The kids had just finished school, and summer was all they could think about.
This trip was supposed to be our chance to relax and recharge.
And what better place than Cuernavaca, the City of Eternal Spring?
But there was more at stake than just relaxation, though. This wasn’t just a vacation; it was also laying the groundwork for a life-changing decision.
We were working towards a permanent move.
I had hyped up the trip as the perfect blend of relaxation and family fun for my wife, Tania, and our two boys. I assured them we would have a great time, fully knowing there would be a little work to do.
But I wasn’t expecting much work.
The last tenant was supposed to be taking excellent care of the place. Maybe I’d have to do a few cosmetic changes, but nothing major. I was actually excited to see what little renovations I’d need to make. We wanted to put our personal touch on the house anyway.
And kids like to paint, right?
As we headed toward the house, I envisioned lazy days in the garden, a bit of yoga in the mornings (Tania was especially looking forward to that), maybe some light sightseeing, and glamping later on in the summer.
What could go wrong?
Well, let me tell you.
The trip started with a hiccup.
A big one.
To be honest, it was more like indigestion.
When we arrived, bags in hand, ready to settle into the house, we discovered it was still technically occupied. Not by squatters, but by the tenant who was supposed to vacate before we got there.
I had concerns before we even left. I had shipped stuff ahead of time to make sure we had the basics when we arrived—kitchen utensils, bedding, furniture, tableware, dining table, chairs, even a fridge!
I timed the movers so everything would be delivered when we got there. Coordinating the trip and ensuring the tenant left on time had been a juggling act. The tenant was supposed to leave two months earlier, but a series of circumstances prolonged their stay.
Until we arrived.
But at least they were committed to doing their due diligence. Eventually.
Even though most of their belongings were gone, the house was still crammed with junk. And when I say junk, I mean JUNK: boxes, random furniture, car parts, and things I couldn’t even begin to identify.
I took a deep breath, glanced at Tania, and could see the same question I had reflected in her eyes: “What now?”
The family’s reaction was unanimous, which was rare. We don’t always agree on everything. After all, we’re a pretty diverse group spanning different stages of life: two Gen Xers, a Gen Z representative (on full teen-mode), and a Gen Alpha kiddo in the mix.
But on this, we were all aligned: the whole situation was a mess.
We were stuck, but we had to make it work.
Thankfully, I had enough sense to book a hotel for when we arrived. I figured we’d need a couple of days to set things up before moving in. So, we unloaded the moving van and left our things in the house.
Us? Back to the hotel while the tenant finished clearing their things.
Ten days, three hotel rooms (long story), an Airbnb, and only after some gentle encouragement (and help packing, provided by yours truly), the tenant finally cleared out the rest of his stuff and left.
It felt like we’d won a battle… until we stepped inside the house.
I wish I could say the house looked like the photos from years ago: the greenery of the front yard, the white stucco walls with the red-tiled roof giving it a warm, inviting charm. A small front porch framed by blooming flowers and potted plants, welcoming visitors with simplicity and grace.
Huge windows overlooking the garden, letting in plenty of natural light, making the cozy interior feel bright and open.
But instead, what we found resembled something out of a home renovation show, the before part. As I stepped into the living room and looked at the state of the walls, the flooring, the kitchen, the restrooms… little pieces of my heart fell all over (adding to the mess).
I have a deep love for this place. I’ve been meaning to go back from the moment I left, decades ago. It always felt like a remote possibility, but now I was here.
We were here.
And the house was a disaster.
Dante, the teen, walked around in wonder. It was actually refreshing to see him engaged in the present moment as opposed to absentmindedly scrolling on his phone. Enzo, the kid held on to Tania, a little more shocked than I thought he would be while whispering to her “I don’t think I want to live here mom.”
This vacation was going to be a little different than planned.
But we weren’t ready to give up just yet.
Tania said it reminded her of Eeyore, worn down, and they sort of share the same color. And vibe. I was having a moment, but I couldn’t help but laugh at the comment.
After the initial walk-through, I jotted a few things down. The following is not a comprehensive list:
None of the doors had working locks.
The cistern and water tank hadn’t been sanitized in years.
It felt like we needed a HAZMAT unit more than pest control.
The front yard had turned into a jungle after years of neglect.
The roof urgently needed waterproofing.
The paint, inside and out, was peeling and crumbling.
The plumbing was a wreck.
Several light fixtures were missing bulbs and sockets.
The backyard and roof were buried under a mountain of leaves.
This vacation had turned into a mission, and we were about to roll up our sleeves as a family and tackle it, one broken lock at a time.
All hands on deck.