No Flooring Weekend Recap

How lovely to be able to say that!!  I'm not saying no work was done but it's so nice to have flooring in the rear view mirror instead of dreading it taking up another weekend so I'm so happy we finished it all last weekend.  (Well, the baseboards still need to go down but pish posh.)  

I wish that I could somehow see an end to it all but I don't.  I remember before the ceiling demolition derby came at the beginning of July and I had grand illusions that I could somehow get it finished by my birthday in early September.  I thought of all of the beautiful ways I would decorate for Fall and how cozy it would be.  If you'd told me not only that it wouldn't be done by the Mr's birthday in October much less not even really be close, I never would've attempted to do more than floors.  I doubt we'll even be able to decorate for any holidays this year even on the main floor because I'm not bringing decorations into a space that is already overloaded with boxes and lumber.  So a wreath over the fireplace it is.  At least it'll be easy.  I'm starting to hate this project with every fiber of my being.  To quote George Banks "I'm told one day I'll look back on this event with great affection and nostalgia... I hope so."

Saturday didn't start out great as some plans that I was looking forward to didn't happen so it was a trigger for a depressive episode that I'm still trying to climb my way out of.   It was another 'hurry up and wait' scenario as none of the three things we thought would be easy to knock out over the weekend came to fruition which swirled the toilet harder for me.  The Mr worked his butt off on the paneling project which I'm very grateful for and lucky for him his part is done but mine is not.  Let's say our father's did us no favors by not showing us how to do home improvement stuff.  Well, the Mr's dad didn't do that stuff much anyway but my dad did (they built two of his brothers houses!) so I'm sure the fact that I have a vagina equated to "she doesn't need to know that."  I remember when we lived with my immigrant great grandma after her husband died when I was in kindergarten.  I was all over the barn climbing on tractors, wandering the property and always wanting to know what my dad was building or tinkering with.  I was always encouraged to stand back and watch.  This one project required hammering and Dad let me try but of course at 5 years old, I wasn't super accurate or fast so it was kind of like "okay, now let me finish it up" and he did a few whacks and ended up hitting his thumb and created some new curse words.  I think maybe he was embarrassed (he was 23 at the time) and I don't remember ever really being allowed in his workspace again.  I wish I had been.  I'm so jealous of these chicks on YouTube who build their own stuff all of the time and we don't have money to burn on practice pieces so I admire from afar.  Honestly, I would give anything for a true craftsman that has retired come and do an intensive 3 day course with us and teach us basics and maybe a few intermediate projects.  It should be something any homeowner does because that is the pamphlet they should hand you at closing:

That moves us on to Sunday.  I throw together a quick breakfast because I don't have a big brunch in me.  He's out there while I'm waiting on coat three to dry on the cove molding so he can get moving on the paneling again and he decides to start baseboard cuts since those aren't down yet.  I hear a noise that implies kickback or something bad has happened.  I mute the TV to listen for movement or whimpers.  I'll give it 5 more seconds before I grab the phone for 911 and head to the garage to see if he's bleeding out in a pile of sawdust.  He comes in with a look on his face.  He has this habit of drawing things out in a dramatic pause to give a long explanation that sends me into instant panic when I just need to know "is it bad???  Is death imminent?"  I ask if he's okay and he thinks he broke his finger when the throat plate shattered into a million pieces on the miter saw.  Well you're pushing on your finger and no bone is sticking out so I think we're okay there.  😄  I get him an ice pack and we start our furious internet searches for what people have in stock.  Throat plate?  Nope.  I'll be damned if we're waiting two more days before finishing that f**king wall.  The saw is a cheap POS anyway, so time to upgrade.  The big orange machine let us down again with nothing in stock so off to a different big box hardware store to get a big boy Skil sliding compound miter saw.  It's not huge but we don't have room for huge and we need it today mofos!!  

I feel like Rachel trying to get home to Lewis with repeated obstacles in Pet Sematary when Pascow was like "it's trying to stop you, Rachel!"  (Thankfully no gifs exist of that particular scene so you won't get to see his brain hanging out.)   Another hour we don't get back and at this point we just had to thank God it didn't bite it in any of the previous three weekends with the flooring.  I got the 4th coat on while he was gone so the molding would at least be good to go when he got back.  He got back and we had lunch before he got started again and finished things up around 3pm.  That's when my hell of wood filling began and then sanding said wood filler which is a curse word generator trying to get it smooth and ready for it's 80th layer of Retique it.  (Not to mention that we had to switch cove molding materials halfway through and they are inferior so now I have patchwork to do.)  Then as I got fresh places filled, I looked at the final row by the entrance that I made a HUGE mistake on and I had to slather it in wood filler thick and wide like a seam on newly hung drywall and hope that I can fix what I screwed up or I will never unsee it.  To top that off, I'm pretty sure someone who hated the Mr and I with a vengeance that died was reincarnated as a fly and began viciously attacking us.  I don't use that term lightly when it comes to insects.  I'm talking it was divebombing into the sides of our heads repeatedly like it had a vendetta against us.  Actually, it's doing it as I type and I'm about to flame throw the effer and take us all with it.  It sounds funny but it's not when you're at the end of yourself and want to order a pizza, a dozen cookies and sit in the closet with a flashlight and cry.  Oh that's right, I have no room to sit in the closet. 

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How was your weekend?

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