Now That It’s Over, Satisfaction in a Job Well Done

I have a dream in which my extremely good-natured husband suggests that, since our house came out so well, we should have a dinner party for the people who made it happen.

I agree, thinking fondly of “Hans,” the contractor, and “Frank,” the architect.

But on the night of the party we open the door and in walk the Evil Subcontractors.

The framer who put the windows in the wrong places. The electrician who told us one Friday that he would be back at 10 on Monday morning and wasn’t seen for two months. The drywaller who always had a six-pack at his side.

The succession of alarm installers who lost their jobs before finishing our system. The stucco guy who lathed over a porch-light fixture and lost the front doorbell altogether under three coats.

The trash hauler who piled our construction debris high on his Toyota pickup, carried it four blocks and dumped it behind a neighbor’s house. The Plumber From Hell who couldn’t manage to do one single thing right on the first try--but made up for it by being one of the surliest people on the planet.

The dinner is a nightmare.

The remodel itself, fortunately, was not.

Now that we have written our last check to the contractor and the certificate of occupancy is safely tucked away in our files, we can look back and assess what we have done.

The result of our year-and-a-half remodeling adventure is good. What was a 1,000-square-foot cute starter house when we bought it is now a nice, modern 1,600-square-foot home with three bedrooms, two baths, nifty amenities and a decent-size yard for our dog and kids to play in.

We like the house. We are still happily married. We even still like the contractor.

Certainly, there are some things we wish we had done differently, some things we should have thought through more carefully.

Putting in a door from the new master bedroom to the back yard, for instance, was a mistake.

It looked good on paper and looks great in reality. The practical effect, though, is that what should have been a secluded and private part of the house is instead the main thoroughfare to the yard.

We also settled for a too-small window in the new master bathroom.

The window looks out on a small, enclosed area. But what we envisioned as a garden that would make us feel as if we were bathing out in the woods is all but invisible because the window is too small and too high.

According to Hans, he ordered the window by the specs in the architect’s plans--which did not match the drawing, which showed a nice, big window. By the time the window showed up two weeks late from the factory in Minnesota, we were so impatient to get things moving again that we just kept quiet.

Which brings me to another error we made: We sometimes gave in to the temptation to accept sloppy work just to get the construction workers out of our hair. We had promised ourselves we wouldn’t, but it was a promise we couldn’t keep.

On balance, though, we did many more things right--beginning with hiring a good architect. We found Frank through friends’ enthusiastic recommendation, and throughout the project he served as our protector, defender and reality checkpoint.

Frank designed a fine house for us and provided extremely detailed plans--the idea was to leave as little as possible up to the contractor’s discretion. He steered us toward the long American Institute of Architecture contract and made sure the contractor’s budget breakdown was attached as part of the agreement.

Making changes was easier when we knew what each part of the remodel was costing, and Frank did a lot of negotiating for us.

Frank also referred us to Hans, a contractor with whom he had worked before. Hans’ references gave him high marks for integrity but low ones for supervision. We accepted that trade-off, since vigilant supervision would have added about $12,000 to the project’s cost. Looking back, I’d take an honest contractor over a good supervisor any day.

As we worked out our remodeling plan with Frank, butting in from time to time was an invisible partner: the Next Owner.

For the Next Owner, we wired for future lighting in the front yard, a future chandelier in the dining area and future lights within the bookshelves. We refused, though, to build farther out into our back yard just so the Next Owner could have two sinks in the master bath when we only needed one.

So as my husband and I continue to congratulate ourselves on our good fortune and/or good sense in making our remodel a positive experience, we can offer a little advice to those planning to take the plunge:

1--If you are remodeling with a spouse or partner, have your heads examined. Seriously.

A lot of money and ego are at stake. Your taste is on trial, and you’ll be making more decisions than you ever anticipated. If you don’t know how to compromise and both win, see a good counselor and learn how before you write the first check.

2--Lock in storage any possessions you want to see intact when the job is finished. Anything the construction workers can get their hands on will end up broken or will just disappear. And don’t forget to monitor your telephone bill for unexplained long-distance calls.

3--Move out during construction if your project is a big one. We moved into an apartment for six months, and it was worth the investment. It could save your relationship and/or sanity.

4--Visit the project daily, and know your plans well enough to spot screw-ups immediately. No one else cares about the quality of construction in your home as much as you do. In fact, there will probably be times when you suspect no one else cares at all.

5--Resist the temptation to rush. You’ll live with the sloppy details for a long time.

6--Give the neighbors your temporary phone number and urge them to call you if the workers do anything to upset them. They’ll love you for it. Nobody likes to live next door to a construction site. And it’s one more way for you to keep an eye on what’s happening to your property.

7--Move back in before the final details are done. A final walk-through is not enough. You need to give the place a live-through before you finish paying the contractor. That’s how you’ll find out that your new forced-air heater sets off the smoke detectors, or that the hot and cold water controls are reversed, or that the keys the contractor gave you don’t fit all the locks.

A final observation about the folks who build houses. Among the workers we met were all manner of drinkers and flakes and at least one thief. The contractor really earns his 15% for baby-sitting these guys.

In fairness, though, we also encountered some skilled craftsmen who clearly took pride in their work.

And as for “Frank” and “Hans,” I used fake names for them in case things turned ugly in the course of the project. Happily, there is no longer any need to be coy about their identities. Our architect was Harold Zellman of Venice, and our contractor was Jan Brussel of Rancho Palos Verdes.

And you know what? We really are having them both over soon for a dinner party.