I remember when we moved into this house, my heart loved it.
The pool was a bonus and completely unexpected since Robert had always sworn he would never own a pool. So you can imagine that walking into a backyard with a wooden deck, pergola, hot tub, and pool felt like stepping into a Hollywood home.
I’ve said in other remodel posts that our house was older and definitely needed updating. But the backyard was the last place I ever imagined transforming because, honestly, just having a pool at all still felt new to me.
At our old house, we spent our summers at Magic Springs and the local country club pool. I already felt blessed to have access to those places, so I was overwhelmed with joy when we suddenly had a pool in our own backyard.
Then one day Robert said we needed to replace the pool liner.
He also wanted to add another skimmer.
Then I realized what he really meant.
We weren’t just replacing a liner.
We were tearing out all the concrete around the pool… which meant the wooden deck had to go, too.
Side note: If you want to know how conservative I can be about money, I actually asked Robert whether the contractors would leave the lumber from our old deck behind so we wouldn’t waste it.
Robert said he’d rather just let them haul it away.
So…they did.
So we started by hiring a contractor for our pool liner.
Then we found Wenscalo, our concrete contractor. I wrote about him here.
Last, we needed to decide what “outdoor kitchen” meant to both of us. I shared that story here.
We had a long way from start to finish.
We had already made a lot of memories in that backyard.
Every Fourth of July, we’d host our neighborhood party there. The kids loved swimming. Friends gathered around the pool.
But if I’m being honest, when Robert grilled, I usually stayed inside or floated in the pool because Arkansas summers are no joke.
The space was fun, but it didn’t really invite us into the same conversation.
Robert would be on the elevated deck behind the grill, separated from the rest of us by the railings. If I wanted shade, I went inside. If I wanted to swim, I stayed in the pool.
Everyone was technically together.
But we were also kind of…compartmentalized.
One of my favorite details of the remodel isn’t the pavilion or even the outdoor kitchen, though.
If you know me, you know I love my dogs.
So yes, the most exciting part of the renovation is actually the pool liner.
A standard pool liner is typically 20 mil on the sides and 20 mil on the bottom.
Because I love my dogs so much, Robert installed a 27-mil liner on the sides and a 30-mil liner on the bottom.
He told me it was “just in case the dogs got in the pool,” not “for the dogs to get in the pool.”
But I can’t help but smile because we both know he bought it for my dogs.
I showed Robert that paragraph before publishing it.
His response?
“I’m glad you like the liner…now you can stop reading my mind.”
The pool has become one of my favorite places to spend time with Charlie, my golden retriever mix.
He’s my oldest dog and probably my closest dog companion. He’s aging outward, if you know what I mean. I worry about him spending too much time in the Arkansas heat, so I’ve been trying to teach him to swim.
I also trained our Belgian Malinois to swim the perimeter of the pool without ever touching Robert’s precious liner.
Husband brag.
Robert persevered through it all.
Not only did we build the kitchen, but he also saved us about $3,000 by doing all of the electrical himself.
He installed:
- Ceiling fans.
- TV.
- Electrical outlets for chargers and other plug-ins.
- Electrical for our outdoor fridge.
Impressed is not the right word.
I stay in awe of him.
Last week we officially finished the backyard remodel.
Life has already started happening there.
On Monday, Robert came home from work, and I asked if he wanted to go for a swim with me.
One thing I love about conversations in the pool is that cell phones don’t really belong there.
Every now and then I’d dip underwater and swim a lap. When I’d come back up, we’d simply pick up the conversation where we’d left off.
I asked him how his day had been.
“Busy. Stressful.”
Normally, that probably would have been the end of it.
Instead, I said, “Tell me more.”
He explained that he’d been filling in for his boss while also taking on a new project initiative at work. It was a lot to carry all at once.
I asked him about the new project.
He laughed and said it was boring nuclear stuff that I probably wouldn’t understand.
I said, “Try me.”
As he kept talking, the word busy began to open up into something more.
There had been moments in his day that carried more weight than he had realized, but he had been moving so quickly that he hadn’t stopped long enough to process them.
Nothing terrible had happened. He had simply been carrying more than his first answer let on.
What struck me was that I never would have known any of it if I had accepted “busy and stressful” and moved on.
I think sometimes that’s what life does.
The longer we talked, the more I could see him sorting through thoughts.
I was glad our conversation gave him room to do that.
That night made me realize something about us.
Sometimes our date nights become more about the setting than the connection.
We get dressed up.
Take a selfie.
Order dinner.
Answer the waiter’s questions.
Talk between interruptions.
There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.
But somewhere along the way, I think we sometimes feed our stomachs more than our souls.
What Robert needed that night wasn’t advice.
He needed my curiosity.
He needed someone willing to ask one more question after “busy.”
Someone willing to say…
“Tell me more.”
Maybe if we’d been sitting in a crowded restaurant, I would have accepted “busy” and moved on.
Instead, we were floating in a pool with nowhere to be.
When we finally got out, Robert smiled and said,
“Thanks for listening to my boring job all night.”
I laughed.
“It is a pleasure to be the one you come to,” I told him. “I always want to hear about it.”
Looking back, I thought we were remodeling a backyard.
We poured concrete.
We replaced a liner.
We built a pavilion.
We created an outdoor kitchen.
But I don’t think that’s what we were really building.
We were building a place where conversations last a little longer.
Where phones stay a little quieter.
Where “busy” becomes “tell me more.”
I know there will be night swims with the kids because we have already had a couple.
Ice cream by the pool.
Football games under the pavilion.
Dogs splashing where they probably shouldn’t.
And I have a feeling there will be many evenings when Robert and I lose track of time because one conversation quietly turns into another.
If that’s what this backyard becomes over the next twenty years, then every decision, every ounce of concrete, and every dollar we spent will have been worth it.
