What if I told you I had figured out a secret -- something that could save untold frustration along with a fair amount of time and money? Here's the SECRET (Gladly's Edict on Construction/Remodeling Estimated Timetables): always add 50% to construction schedules. If it's supposed to take a month, bank on six weeks. If they say two months, count on three. And please oh please, if they're telling you your new place will be ready by Christmas, don't plan on getting in before Valentine's Day.
No matter how much you trust the builder, no matter how many similar jobs unfolded painlessly for your friends, and no matter how much you want the work to be done on time (especially that last one): don't believe the original estimate. It's always wrong.
This is on my mind today because there is a corollary to the SECRET, which I'll call the TENET (Trustworthy Edict on Navigating Ever-present Traffic). It is this: usually add 50% to travel times. I know it only took half an hour to get there ten years ago. I liked it better when there was less traffic too. But here we are in 2004 [I would insert some helpful statistics here on how many more SUVs are on the road today and how likely people are to drive a mile instead of walking, but there is laundry calling my name at the moment and interfering with my googling], and the plain truth is that unless you live far away from everywhere, it's wiser to plan on traffic.
I am talking to myself as much as anyone else here, because the motivation for my laundry extravaganza is a weekend trip to visit friends. They say it's three hours away, but I'm trying to remind myself: add 50% to travel times. When traveling with kids, 70% might be wiser.
I could tell you stories about the times I have my shared the SECRET with friends, in one case hesitantly suggesting that she might reconsider putting the old house on the market before the new foundation was poured. You can guess the ending to that story, can't you? But I can't be too smug about it, because I am feeling that same ineluctable optimism (read: denial) about my trip tomorrow. It can't really take five hours, can it?
As soon as I switch the last load of laundry into the dryer, I am going out to buy some snacks (some really appalling snacks) to sustain my kids through that fourth hour of driving time tomorrow. Hope springs eternal in the traveling breast (or the remodeling breast, though that doesn't scan as nicely), but the wise mom plans for the worst.
See you Monday.
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