Our Instagram post last night was a little cryptic. We were having an especially frustrating day after two discouraging setbacks with the duplex renovation hit us within ten hours. We try to share the good, the bad, and the ugly—like missing a timeline, busting a budget, or accidentally smashing a ceramic animal. Sometimes renovation life means small disasters: not being able to find the water meter for a month or failing an irrigation inspection in spectacular fashion.
On nights like that you don’t always want to dive into the nitty-gritty; you’re still in “why is this happening?!” mode. But you also don’t want to post an overly cheerful update when you’re feeling annoyed. So we shared an honest, somewhat grumpy note about how renovations can be messy, but how we still have plenty to be grateful for—family, health, pets, tiny house-shaped vases, and cookies. Note: many cookies were harmed in the making of our evening meltdown.
Today is a new day. Perspective often arrives after sleep, and we’re already clearer-headed and working on a Plan B—slowly, but it’s moving. Here’s what’s going on with the beach duplex we’re renovating down the street from our pink beach house. Or at least trying to renovate.
We discussed some early hurdles on our podcast: there have been several behind-the-scenes obstacles that keep multiplying. Tasks that were straightforward during last year’s pink house renovation have become unexpectedly complicated this time. For example, we were able to pull a permit quickly for the pink house, but for this duplex we’ve been trying to secure the permit since November—and the house has only gotten dustier and more moldy while we wait.
The backstory: we’re proposing a few exterior changes, so the Historic Review Board needs to approve them. Most items were minor, like tweaks to the front porch railing and stairs. The largest change was the roofline—we wanted to raise the pitch and add a dormer. The roof is essentially flat now; increasing the slope will improve water drainage and allow us to switch to asphalt shingles instead of an expensive flat roof system. That would make the roof more reliable for renters and better fit the character of the neighborhood, where few flat roofs remain.
The dormer was mostly for charm; many similar homes in the historic district already have this pitch and dormer. We missed the November Review Board meeting by a hair and December was postponed for the holidays, so January 16th was our first chance to present. Our contractor Sean presented for us—he knows the board and regularly brings projects for review. He’s meticulous about historical accuracy and didn’t propose anything he didn’t think could pass.
So we were stunned when our plans were rejected. After months of waiting, we were turned down. Sean called us after the meeting; you could hear his surprise and frustration. It initially seemed like a favorable vote, but in the end the board denied the request. We were bewildered—especially because other, more substantial renovations around town had been approved.
We don’t fault the board for protecting the town’s integrity—that’s their job—but it felt like our modest proposal, similar to other recent approvals, didn’t even register on the same scale. We were trying to make the duplex fit in better with the neighborhood and improve its longevity, not make radical changes.
Our immediate response was Plan B: drop the dormer. Even conceding that, we face another delay: the board’s next meeting is February 25th to re-present the revised plan. If approved then, a new 30-day waiting period for permits—recently imposed—means we wouldn’t receive a permit until March 25th. For two people who have been itching to start since November, a five-month delay is incredibly frustrating.
We’re sad to lose the dormer, but we can let it go. It would have been cute, but it also added cost—so removing it actually helps the budget. Plan B is a slightly less pitched roof without the dormer, which still looks charming and was mentioned favorably by the board during the meeting. Beyond the roof, we’ll be widening the front stairs, installing more substantial, historically accurate pillars and railing, using white siding with mint-green shutters, and restoring the diamond-grilled window in the gable. The board had no concerns about those improvements, so we expect the revised proposal to pass and work to begin in late March or early April—despite how long it’s taken to get here.
We also faced a financial surprise: a subcontractor gave an unexpectedly high quote. That panic led us to call around and find another subcontractor who can do the job within budget—someone we’ve used before and trust—but the scramble added to the day’s stress. The whole day felt like a bad omen for the duplex: delays, high estimates, and a denied proposal all in one.
This is the reality of renovation: curveballs. We expected some, but not this early or this many—especially after spending last year renovating the house next door without these initial roadblocks. Still, there’s a useful mantra we keep in mind: you can do hard things—after you freak out about them first. We had our freak-out last night. We vented, ate cookies, and then made a plan.
Now we’re back on track and pursuing every possible route to shorten the waiting period. We’ve already made calls and followed leads to see if there’s a way around the new 60-day hold. We’ll keep pushing. Whenever the duplex is finally finished—maybe 2027, maybe sooner—we think it’s going to be fantastic. We’re excited about the ideas we’re planning and can’t wait to get started.
In closing, sharing frustration publicly isn’t fun, but it’s real: real dollars, real timelines, and real disappointment. It wouldn’t feel authentic to act like none of this is happening. We’re humans who, as it turns out, can eat an impressive number of cookies while mourning a dormer and a busted timeline.