Getting your new home ready for a party

The date had been etched on the calendar for a year: DC’s last day of work, the day he would retire after 40 years of practicing law. He talked about this nonstop, sometimes with exhilaration, sometimes with ambivalence and sometimes with anxiety.

I, his patient and tolerant wife, ignored all his mental machinations and focused instead on, well, what else? Marking the milestone with a party at our place! While he wrestled with his rite of passage, I planned the party. Even though the event was in October, I chose an Independence Day theme. I would round up Fourth of July decorations and ask guests to wear red, white and blue. I would get sparklers and red and blue party napkins that said “Sip Sip Hooray! It’s DC’s Independence Day” and “Out Of Office Forever!”

I had it all pictured. What I hadn’t pictured was that just 90 days before the big day we would accept an all-cash offer on our house, which wasn’t even listed, detonating seismic upheaval. Between now and then, we would have to pack and move out of the Happier Yellow House, find a new house, renovate it, move in and be show-ready. I pictured that cartoon of a waiter in black tie perfectly balancing a silver serving tray of drinks while below he’s skidding on banana peels and ice.

Of course, it never occurred to me to postpone the party or have it anywhere but at my house, wherever that was. And so, the countdown began.

• T-minus 90 days. We accept the offer with no new house in sight. Go ahead and judge, but if you were on the verge of retirement and wanted to move into your next chapter with no mortgage and extra cash, you too would accept.

• T-minus 85 days. In a state of denial, we take off on a long-planned, noncancelable two-week vacation overseas. Although we have looked at more than a dozen homes for sale, we haven’t found The House. One has potential but needs work. We plan to revisit it after our trip and see what else comes on the market.

• T-minus 78 days. The house with potential has an offer coming in. Maybe now because someone else wants it, I like it more. It does have charming curb appeal, a great neighborhood near friends, a better floor plan, nice light and good bones and is two-thirds the price of the home we’re selling, so no mortgage. Plus, the house is yellow — a sign. I also have a work list: replace the flooring with hardwood throughout; paint over “decorative” designs and personal-choice colors (petunia pink and prison gray); gut and update two bathrooms; replace dated light fixtures and ceiling fans; and add built-in bookshelves. I run all this by DC. His eyeballs roll back in his head like dollar signs in a slot machine. We make an offer from Germany. It’s accepted.

• T-minus 70 days. The rest of our so-called vacation is a flurry of texts and Zoom calls to negotiate home inspections and related repairs.

• T-minus 46 days. After weeks of nonstop packing, purging, donating and gathering bids for work at the new house, we move out of the Happier Yellow House and put our furniture in storage.

• T-minus 42 days. We close on the Happiest Yellow House.

• T-minus 39 days. A crew descends on the house with jackhammers. They tear out the floors and gut two of the home’s three bathrooms. The recently updated bathroom in the primary bedroom is spared. The house is literally a shell of its former self. I want to cry.

• T-minus 20 days. With new wood floors installed and painting done, the movers arrive with our furniture. We spend our first night in our new home. We optimistically send evites for DC’s retirement party.

• T-minus 16 days. Installers start tiling the two bathrooms. We hang wall art. Construction begins on the built-ins — shelves and cabinets in the office and family room. We have boxes of books and accessories on the floor that I’m itching to put away but need shelves.

• T-minus 14 days. An electrician replaces four ceiling fans and installs 12 can lights in previously underlit rooms. I’m getting nervous that the party is two weeks away and I don’t have a working bathroom for guests. I don’t want 50 people traipsing through my bedroom to get to the one working bathroom.

• T-minus seven days. We install drapery rods and drapes. Vanity cabinets go in the two guest baths. We still need counters, sinks and faucets.

• T-minus four days. With the paint (barely) dry on the built-ins, I gleefully empty the boxes of books and accessories.

• T-minus two days. Stone counters, sinks and faucets go in guest baths. The finish line is in sight.

• T-minus one day. Mirrors and light fixtures go up in the bathrooms. Dust is everywhere. We clean like mad.

• T-minus zero. Fifty guests arrive at the Happiest Yellow House to celebrate DC’s retirement. Many say, “I can’t believe you just moved in! It doesn’t look like it.” I wave my hand while balancing a tray of bubbling champagne glasses and say lightly, “Oh, it was nothing!”

I have a saying: A task will expand to fill the amount of time you have. And while I did break a sweat more than once getting my new home decorated and party-ready in the 40 days between getting keys and hosting, here’s what helped:

• A deadline. As a veteran journalist, I know deadlines work. If you want something done, set one.

• Being organized. In the days before we closed on the new house, I solicited workers and bids. Afterward, I was like air traffic control, lining up crews and supplies on the runway and helping projects take off and land.

• Ordering what I could early. The goal was to not have a contractor waiting on materials. I had a garage full of wood flooring, tile, sinks, faucets, paint, light fixtures and ceiling fans ready.

• Getting good people. I could not have pulled this off without excellent contractors including painters, flooring installers, electricians, handymen, cabinetmakers and more. Treat them well.

Marni Jameson is a speaker and award-winning author of seven home and lifestyle books, including “Downsizing the Family Home” and “Rightsize Today for Your Best Life Tomorrow.” If you have questions about home improvement, better living, downsizing or rightsizing, send them to marni@marnijameson.com.