7 Ways to Make Building a Home Less Stressful

I intended to blog about building our home every step of the way. But then things got STRESSFUL.

As my sister said, “I always heard that if your marriage can survive building a house, it can survive anything. I never knew why—until now.”

The mistakes, the setbacks, the costs—it’s a lot (especially when, in the meantime, you're living in a ridiculously expensive, yet tiny, third-floor apartment with a toddler). My realtor tells me it’s normal to have a long list of fixes toward the end of construction, and my husband says, after 13 years of dealing with contractors at work, he's learned that mistakes are the norm. 

But still: Walking into your house and seeing your kitchen pendants hanging out in la-la land, nowhere near centered over the island, is troubling. As is discovering that your garage doors have been stained the wrong color. Or that your crazy-expensive marble bathroom tile—the splurge item you were super-pumped about—looks like your toddler laid it. 

Ugh.

Only two weeks to go! 

So would I build again? Yes—but next time, I’d be armed with these seven tips for making the process go a little more smoothly (and keeping my mental health intact):

Expect mistakes. It’s not a matter of if—it’s a matter of when. So walk through your house with a critical, unemotional eye, almost like you’re a home inspector, not a home owner-to-be. That way, you’ll be able to flag mistakes without getting flustered.

Walk your house regularly. Because our builder is working on a handful of houses, he isn’t visiting ours on a daily basis (like I think he should be!). That leaves the walk-throughs up to us. When you visit, bring a print-out of your selections along to compare what’s been done with what you chose (hint: during the selection phase, photograph everything!), along with a measuring tape and a camera. Taking pics of mistakes makes it much easier to show your builder where the issues are.

Don’t stress over the small stuff. Builders hate when buyers bring up the little stuff—wall dings or a drip of paint, say—because these things WILL be fixed. You don’t need to point them out, unless, of course, it’s closing day and it still hasn’t been repaired. Save your complaining for actual errors: incorrect colors, for example, or poor workmanship (as with my bathroom floors).

Don’t assume anything is correct. When I was signing off on my selection sheet (the document that lists every finish and fixture), I focused my attention on the items I’d upgraded: Was the tile the one I’d chosen? Did they remember to paint the master bath cabinets dark gray? As a result, I missed an error: While the rest of my faucets are brushed nickel, the one in my laundry room was listed as chrome. So now I have a chrome faucet in my laundry room—because it was my fault that I didn’t double-check the finish.

Don’t skip the home inspection. Every inch of our house is under full warranty for our year, so we figured we’d have the home inspected after six months, once it had settled. But then we talked to our soon-to-be-neighbor, who found that getting the builder to make repairs after closing was much more difficult than before. Now, we are going to have our home inspected before closing, ensuring any repairs are completed before we've signed the papers.

Communicate via email. Yes, face-to-face meetings or phone calls are more personal—but emails give you evidence. If there’s a dispute with your builder about what was decided, or who promised what, it’s always helpful to have a paper trail. 

Find joy in the small things. If I’m making this process sound like three months of torture, it kind of has been—but I’ve still tried to keep my emotions in check: I’m lucky to have the chance to build exactly what I want. With that in mind, I’ve tried to find joy in little things along the way: The landscapers planted four trees instead of the expected three! My herringbone floor turned out exactly as I envisioned! My neighbors are super nice! Bottom line: Don’t let the mistakes steal the joy from your dream home. 

Destination Dallas: Construction Update!

We had a meeting with our builder last week, and he had some good news: Our house has officially reached the halfway mark! The framing is done, the electrical inspection happened yesterday, and the insulation will start going up on Friday. So far, the progress has seemed slow, with few changes each visit, but that's because the work has been mostly electrical, which doesn't exactly have the visual wow factor (except for Frank). 

Even so, it's fun seeing the house built from the ground up. 

One feature of the house that we loved was its two garages. It's not uncommon to have space for three cars in Texas garages, but often, they're what's called a "tandem" garage, where one bay is extra deep, allowing you to park two cars one on side. I much prefer having two separate garages, one with two spots, another with just one. We plan to use the single-car garage for Frank's workshop, unless, of course, I prove incapable of swinging my SUV into the two-car garage. 

For me, the interior's the most exciting part. Walking through the framed-out house, I have been able to get a better sense of the layout and the scale of each room, which allows me to imagine how I'll place my furniture (and decide what new pieces I need!). 


The photo above is a couple weeks old, but it shows the study, which is right off of the foyer, through the double door opening on the left. There's also a guest bedroom with a bathroom, a mudroom, laundry room, and a powder bath at the front of the house.

I was initially a little skeptical of the octagonal foyer, but now that I'm seeing it underway, I love it! It's spacious, unique, and will be the perfect showcase for my herringbone wood floor.

As you go deeper into the house, there's the dining room on the left, as well as a media room, a windowless space designed for a projector screen. The rest of the rooms have huge windows, one of my favorite parts of the house, to let the bright Texas sunshine in!

Study on one side, dining room on the other.

The pipes sticking up on the left are where the kitchen island will be. Frank is walking through the eat-in kitchen area. 

Although this picture is a little dark, you can see my favorite features in our living room: the cathedral ceiling and wall of windows. The next photo is of the same space (looking toward the kitchen), but much brighter!

It seems I forgot to photograph the rest of the house, so I'll have to save that for the next update! 

Destination Dallas: Designing My Dream Home (Part 2)

My inspiration photo. (Credit: homedecorify.com)

Let me start by saying: I am SO excited to have a real master bath. At our first house, we technically had one, but it was tiny and far from luxurious, unless you consider a handicap-accessible shower fancy (the previous owner was in his 90s). (It also had magnificently ugly iridescent wallpaper that I ripped down when Frank was out of town.) Our next house wasn't much better: Since it was built in the early 1900s, the bathrooms were all small, which meant we had a massive master bedroom...and a tub barely big enough for a toddler.

The rooms featured in this post are highlighted in yellow!

So when I chose the plans for our new house, I was stoked to see two sinks..and a soaking tub...and walk-in closets! We are finally going to have a true master suite, which means I was willing to devote a sizable chunk of my budget to this space.

The hex tile at the bottom left is our flooring.

I started with the flooring and worked my way up. I knew right away what I wanted, thanks to years of fantasizing about a no-holds-barred master bathroom: gray marble hex tile. I was surprised to find that the marble flooring was only a few hundred dollars more than the similar ceramic hex tile, so I was able to spring for the more luxurious option. For our shower, which has a frameless glass surround, I picked a classic white subway tile with light gray grout. 

The cabinets will be painted dark gray, Sherwin Williams Pewter Cast, which will contrast nicely with the white quartz countertops I selected (see the photo above). I chose brushed gold light fixtures at the lighting center last weekend (and will eventually install gold hardware, something our builder's design center doesn't offer).

Speaking of lighting...I have two words: rude awakening.

I quickly discovered that the budget we were given for lighting would only cover the cost of a basic package (which includes underwhelming, under-sized light fixtures), and upgrading didn't come cheap. I spent the entire allotted amount on only a few spaces: the kitchen island, outdoor patio, all four bathrooms, and the foyer. To save money (and to buy me time to find fixtures I actually like), I'm having the builder install dangling light bulbs in the remaining rooms and will have Frank install fixtures as I find them elsewhere. (The lighting center featured a lot of traditional fixtures in silver and bronze, replete with rod iron curlicues, which is totally not my style.)

The whole point of this aside: The cost of building is never what you think it will be. We've literally been hit with upcharges every step of the way (just yesterday it was for sliding shelves for pots and pans in our kitchen), and I am so grateful this house wasn't at the very top of our budget. The unexpected expenses are crazy (and, I'm guessing, a normal part of the process). 

I loved the 100-year-old clawfoot tub (in Asa's bathroom) at my last house,
so I was hoping to install something like this. (Credit: planete.decor.fr)

Speaking of which, let's talk about the tub. One of my bathroom pet peeves is jetted, Jacuzzi-style tubs, probably because they reek of the 90s (and, also, because they quite literally reek: I once had a hotel Jacuzzi blast me with smelly stuff. I choose not to think about what it was). I've always envisioned a freestanding soaking tub in my dream master bath, and figured it'd be no issue to install one. Wrong. I was told it'd be a $10,000 upgrade. 

Apparently, a freestanding tub has to align perfectly with the drain, whereas there's more wiggle room (and thus less installation cost) with a boxed-in tub, making it a more economical choice. (Note: I've since been told the $10,000 was probably high, more of an attempt to discourage us from making the change than anything.) Since this is probably not our forever home, I decided to stick with the standard tub, which thankfully, isn't jetted! I picked the marble-look tile (in the image with the marble tile flooring above) for the deck. 

My tub will have a paneled surround, like this one, with a marble-look deck.
(Credit: astrollthrulife.net)

The mirrors have a dark gray frame, which I may be spray painting to match my fixtures. (I'll wait to decide once I see it all together.)

Inspiration for Asa's bathroom. (Credit: stylemepretty.com)

Asa's bath is a Jack-and-Jill design, with two sinks, opening to two separate bedrooms, one of which will be hers, and the other, her playroom. Since this bathroom is a child's space, I decided to have some fun with the design and picked a patterned tile for the flooring. The tiles are dark, so I chose white cabinets and a dark gray quartz countertop. The selection of gold bathroom lights was limited, compelling me to use the same one I chose for the master.

The tile flooring, plus the dark gray quartz countertop.

When Frank enlarged the floor plan so we could review the electrical components, I noticed that the doors between the sinks and the bedrooms were actually just cased openings. This wasn't going to work with a toddler (I could just envision nighttime sink splashing), and even though the walls had already been framed, my builder was kind enough to make the switch for free. Crisis averted! 

I had originally planned to use subway tile behind Asa's bathtub, assuming the ubiquitous white tile, with its 50 cent price tag at Home Depot, would be an inexpensive option. Yet again, I was wrong; it would have cost me almost $700. Because her bathtub is tucked away and not a focal point, I opted for the builder grade option, which is basic square white tiles.

The standard-issue mirrors are frameless and glued to the wall. I knew I didn't want these so I told the builder to leave the walls above the sink blank. I purchased a pair of round gold mirrors that I'll hang myself:

Next time: the other two baths!

Destination Dallas: Our First Homebuilding Debacle

Oh, almond windows, how I loathe thee. 

I suppose it was bound to happen. 

For weeks, I’ve been obsessively pondering every square inch of our new home (while "watching" Beauty and the Beast, I was actually mulling over my foyer flooring). But it wasn’t until this weekend that I noticed a single word, buried in the contract, that sent me reeling: almond.

I was flipping through the thick document, trying to find the dimensions of the living room windows so I could start thinking about curtains, when I spotted it. Somehow, I'd missed it before: Our windows are not white, but rather almond (or, as the builder calls it, “sandstone”). Panic quickly ensued. 

Our paint color on the left, window frame on the right.
(The paint color is grayer in reality than it looks here.)

One room in our current house, the sunroom, has cream-colored window frames, and before we found out we were moving, I devoted a lot of time and mental space to figuring out how to disguise them, replace them, or paint them. Now I’m going to have not just off-white—but sand-colored—window frames in EVERY ROOM OF MY HOUSE. 

The sunroom of my current house, in all its cream-colored window glory.

Our builder and designer discussed with us every other detail of the home—whether the front door, the door knobs, the flooring, the outlets—but for some reason neglected to mention the almond window frames. My builder's explanation: Everyone in Texas now uses them—they’re designed to blend with the earthy-colored exteriors—so they don’t even consider it worth discussing. That leaves me to add “non-white windows” to my list of Texas real-estate oddities, alongside (mostly) non-white ceilings and textured walls. 

In the model home, the beige windows do seem to blend, even with gray walls,
so maybe I'm being overdramatic? Only time will tell!

Unfortunately, by the time I noticed, the windows had already been installed, and we’re not about to fork over thousands of dollars to change them (according to the builder, they’d just have to be trashed or donated to Habitat for Humanity). My last hope is that they can be painted; we’re waiting to find out if doing so will void the warranty. Otherwise, I’m just going to have to rely heavily on curtains, blinds, and shutters. This is where I would insert a sad face if I used emojis, although my sister has been one source of solace, offering her own home-decorating crisis as a lesson. 

When she installed bamboo blinds, she fretted for weeks over the long cords dangling in front of her windows, and beat herself up for not spending a little more money for the cordless version. But eventually, she stopped noticing the cords entirely—and suspects I’ll do the same. So here’s hoping that my ugly windows eventually “disappear”—even if they can’t physically be replaced—and in the meantime, I’ll file this away as a lesson for the future: Don’t ever assume anything when building a house.  

Destination Dallas: Designing My Dream Home (Part 1)

The yellow areas are the spaces covered in this post!

Our builder’s design center was a Pinterest dream come true. A model home with a beautiful kitchen and gorgeous furnishings, it also had a work space full of every tile and countertop imaginable. I met with the in-house designer, who, as much as I’d like to think I could do this thing on my own, was a valuable sounding board as I brought my visions to life in, oh, about four hours. (Normally, clients take two trips to the design center, but because of our schedule, I had to settle for one.) 

One of the builder's design centers

Even though I had less than 24 hours to plan for my appointment—I spent pretty much the entire night before lying in bed visualizing my designs—I already had a strong sense of the look I wanted: gray, glam (but not gaudy), with, of course, a white kitchen (think Hollywood Regency meets transitional style). That helped eliminate more than half of the options in design center right off the bat (I rejected anything cream-colored or beige), which made my job a little easier. 

We started from the front door and worked our way back. I opted for the builder-grade door—a six-panel mahogany one—but you don’t have to wait long for my first big design moment. It happens literally as soon as you walk inside: Our house has an octagonal, rotunda-style foyer, so to highlight this unique feature, the wood flooring will be laid in a herringbone pattern (with a 12” mitered-edge border). I haven’t met with the lighting specialist yet, but I’m envisioning an orb chandelier hanging overhead, with a pretty foyer table (and fresh flowers!) underneath.  

Herringbone wood floor (my stain is a bit darker)

The walls throughout the whole house will be painted Sherwin Williams On the Rocks, with white ceilings (apparently, in Texas, it’s standard to paint ceilings the same color as the walls, so we had to pay a hefty upgrade fee just for white ceilings!). 

Next: the kitchen! 

Kitchen inspiration! I'm a sucker for subtle Asian design elements (think pagoda lights and Chippendale chairs), paired with glam finishings. (Photo: Studio-McGee.com)

This part of the project was high stakes for me. I’ve never had an amazing kitchen—in our first home, a ho-hum 1970s rancher, I refinished the dated oak cabinets and installed granite, but it was more of a “make this work until we move out” scenario. Our current home’s kitchen is pretty, but small—the house was built in the early 1900s when kitchens were strictly functional—and the cabinets are cream-colored, rather than white. So this was my chance to go all out! 

For the cabinet doors, I chose...can you guess it...white, with rectangular insets. Then I selected a quartz countertop, Carrara Gioia, that (as the name suggests) looks very similar to Carrara marble but without the maintenance concerns (no staining!). 

Samples of our flooring, backsplash tile, and countertop.

My husband, ever the engineer, can’t stand the wasted space above cabinets, so we upgraded to ceiling-height, glass-front, upper-upper cabinets, where we’ll store pretty bowls and other things we rarely use but want to display. Sort of like this (but in white):

Photo: http://miss-dixie.blogspot.com/2013/07/my-subway-tile-obsession.html

We also added a decorative vent hood cover over the stove, and chose these legs for the island (they'll be painted white):

To echo the front foyer flooring, we're going with a herringbone backsplash, in matte gray subway tile with white grout. Sort of like this, but lighter:

Photo: HouseofTurquoise.com

For the most part, the design center had the materials I’d hoped for—except for brushed gold hardware. So I’m waiting until after the house is finished to install my cabinet handles. I’m still deciding between these options (each only about $6 each at Lowe's):

We’ll have two pendant lights over the island. I’m leaning toward a pagoda-style lantern…sort of like this: 

Lightingconnection.com; $250

I’m still deciding on the fixture for the eat-in area next to the kitchen, but I do have a few leading contenders:

Too much Asian influence with the pagoda lanterns? I still have to decide.

I love the style of this, but don't like the $1,000 price tag! 

At $275, this one's much more reasonably priced, but not as beautiful.

Next post: the master bath and Asa’s bath! 

Destination Dallas: House Hunting!

A rancher shouldn't be that pricey, right? Nope: This white-brick Dallas beauty was $750K.
Talk about a real-estate wake-up call.

I never thought I’d be a Texan—I don’t like crazy-hot weather, flat land, or McMansions, which were pretty much the only things I knew about Texas a few months ago. I don't even particularly care for shiplap. But then Frank got offered a job we simply couldn’t pass up, so here we are, on our way to the Lone Star state.

Beautiful Fort Worth bungalow, with a not-so-stunning neighborhood.

His office is just outside of Dallas, so I initially focused my search on historic homes in Dallas or Fort Worth. After living in a 100-year-old home with close proximity to a downtown—albeit a one-street downtown—I was determined to replicate the lifestyle I love in the big city. But on our first house-hunting trip, I came back to Maryland discouraged: Every old home I looked at, no matter how tastefully done, was smack dab in the middle of a bad neighborhood. With a toddler in tow, that wasn’t going to work—so I did what I said I’d never do: shifted my search to the suburbs. 

I had a lengthy list of must-haves: a white kitchen, four bedrooms, a fenced yard, a short drive to amenities and Frank’s office, and a good-sized garage. (Basically, everything the unreasonable buyers on House Hunters demand!)  After weeks of scouring Zillow, I wasn’t feeling optimistic. Despite what everyone says about Texas real estate (“You can get so much house for your money!”), the homes were high-priced and short on style: a whole lot of brick behemoths, with hyper-vaulted ceilings (which I hate), tile living rooms, and textured walls. I couldn’t fathom spending so much money on so ugly a house.

I don't want to house-shame any of the actual properties we perused. So here's a nice visual summary of Texas living. (Photo: McMansion Hell)

With so little inventory I actually liked, I sent my poor realtor a list of 31 homes—all of which we needed to see in one weekend. I figured if I saw enough of ‘em, one was bound to stick. And one did…but unbeknownst to us, the owners were already in talks with another buyer. I woke up Sunday morning prepared to make an offer after walking through the house a second time—and as I stood in the home’s foyer, my realtor informed me the place was already under contract. It’s no wonder I developed shingles that weekend. The stress was awful!

I trudged through the remaining homes on my list, and every last one fell short. Doggy stench, outdated kitchens, vaulted foyers—they all seemed to be reminding me that I’d lost the only house I could love in the entire DFW metro-area. But then my realtor suggested meeting with builders, an idea I’d resisted, since I didn’t wanted a postage-stamp yard or a treeless neighborhood. 

The first builder was a flop: The houses were already framed, which meant it was too late to select my own finishings—and the salesman couldn't show me what, exactly, had been selected for the home. I wasn’t willing to buy a house without seeing what it would look like. Pass.

The second builder was a totally different story. I was told I could pick everything—from the countertops to the flooring to the faucets, and I knew this was a good fit. We walked around a few framed-out two-story homes, but they all had vaulted living rooms and corner fireplaces—total turn-offs to me. The salesperson mentioned they had one single-story home in the works with cathedral ceilings (A-shaped, instead of vaulted). We currently live in a three-story home, and I’ve fallen down nearly every set of stairs. So I liked the idea.

Exterior rendering of our new home

Long story short, we fell in love with the home (well, the floor plan—the foundation hadn’t even been poured) and rescheduled our flights so I could spend the next day in the design center choosing all of my finishes. Although I’d never suggest doing this in a few hours—talk about stress!—it was also a blast. And I got to choose all the little details I’ve dreamed about—hex tiles, white kitchen cabinets, herringbone wood flooring. But more on that next time!