Saturday, August 5th: 17 hours of tiling my first job - our new shower. Talk about a learning curve... I got home after midnight with my fingertips throbbing from all the thinset cement contact.
Sunday (6th): helped with set-up and take-down at church (8 a.m. to around noon), then hosted small group at night (5:30-8:30)
Monday (7th): up at 5, over to the house to mark lines for the faux finish painted stripes in the living room. Home by 6:30 a.m. to talk with Trent before he left for work, went through the morning routine with Nathan (up, change, feed, read, play, feed) and back to the house with Nathan and my mom. Nathan napped, I tiled and Mom taped in the living room. Home to do laundry, tried to cut the one remaining tile I needed cut, back to the house to paint a bit in the living room, home for supper and back to the house to continue tiling until just after 10.
Tuesday (8th): up to talk with Trent, morning routine with Nathan, then back over to the house to (finally) finish tiling. Cleared space in the living room for carpet to be delivered, then home to spend the afternoon with Nathan. Friends came over for supper, and Trent & I went to the house after supper to check over things and make lists for a (hopefully) last trip to Menards, etc.
Wednesday: During Nathan's morning nap, I'll be painting at our house; after Nathan's in bed at night, I'll be over at the house grouting the shower tile.
Thursday: carpet can be laid, and Trent & I drive 45 miles with Nathan to get things from Menards, etc.
Friday: carpet laying finished, items moved from my parents' front room and some of Nathan's room into our house.
Saturday: a crew of unknown size will be at our house at 8 a.m. to help us move all of our items from storage (where they've been since a year ago last May) into our new house.
I have no idea if I'll be able to find sheets for us to use to sleep at our house Saturday night or not. Why is it that no matter how much planning you try to do, everything lands at the last minute?
August 08, 2006
August 03, 2006
Last-Minute Renovating
This last week has been a slew of home renovation-related tasks, and I suspect it will continue to be this way up through the 16th of August. We need to move in to our house before the 17th/18th of August - as in, two weeks from tomorrow.
As of 11:00 this morning, no flooring material was permanently installed in any of the rooms, only the microwave/fumehood is installed of the sundry appliances destined for kitchen or laundry room, no furniture is anywhere in the vicinity of the house, and the garage is a confused labyrinth of cardboard boxes (some empty, some not) and torn-out counters and old housing paraphanalia.
Two. Weeks. From. Tomorrow.
This week? Two trips (~1 hr's drive each way) to Home Depot and/or Menard's for various supplies, vinyl flooring being laid in three of the rooms, ceiling fans and other electrical fixtures installed, furnace vents being cleaned of their foot-deep accumulation of dust, rooms being painted, plumbing hooked up, and (still to come this week) tile installed in the shower, new circuitry being run and laminate being laid in three more areas. Carpet, the last bit of painting and moving are all supposed to happen next week. -Oh, and my mom's helping me refinish the dining room set in the meantime. Plus figure out window treatments. Plus watch Nathan.
Did I mention that I'm the one who will be laying the tile in the shower? I volunteered in a moment of bravery that I might later regret. Neither Trent nor I have laid tile before, so we're starting at the same skill level. He's got so much to do and so few Saturdays to do it... This seemed like a big job I might be able to do instead of him. I've purchased my materials, read up on techniques and do's and don'ts, and have invited two girlfriends over for moral support on Saturday.
If you read a news story this weekend of a woman in the Midwest who tried to slit her wrists with a shard of tile, it might be me.
As of 11:00 this morning, no flooring material was permanently installed in any of the rooms, only the microwave/fumehood is installed of the sundry appliances destined for kitchen or laundry room, no furniture is anywhere in the vicinity of the house, and the garage is a confused labyrinth of cardboard boxes (some empty, some not) and torn-out counters and old housing paraphanalia.
Two. Weeks. From. Tomorrow.
This week? Two trips (~1 hr's drive each way) to Home Depot and/or Menard's for various supplies, vinyl flooring being laid in three of the rooms, ceiling fans and other electrical fixtures installed, furnace vents being cleaned of their foot-deep accumulation of dust, rooms being painted, plumbing hooked up, and (still to come this week) tile installed in the shower, new circuitry being run and laminate being laid in three more areas. Carpet, the last bit of painting and moving are all supposed to happen next week. -Oh, and my mom's helping me refinish the dining room set in the meantime. Plus figure out window treatments. Plus watch Nathan.
Did I mention that I'm the one who will be laying the tile in the shower? I volunteered in a moment of bravery that I might later regret. Neither Trent nor I have laid tile before, so we're starting at the same skill level. He's got so much to do and so few Saturdays to do it... This seemed like a big job I might be able to do instead of him. I've purchased my materials, read up on techniques and do's and don'ts, and have invited two girlfriends over for moral support on Saturday.
If you read a news story this weekend of a woman in the Midwest who tried to slit her wrists with a shard of tile, it might be me.
August 02, 2006
Killing Superwoman
From Rob Bell's book Velvet Elvis:
I realize this is true for me. However grisly and macabre it might sound:
Supermom, you who never let your child utter a second wail before you are crib-side with comforting words and an always adequate milk supply, who always sets aside any task from clipping toenails to disarming a nuclear bomb in order to play with your tot in mind-building activities - I place my determined hands firmly around your throat and happily, gleefully choke off all rivulets of air making their way to your lungs.
Superwife, you who can still wear every perfectly-mended item of clothing from your size-4 days in college, who looks alluring enough to draw other manly gazes yet never the slightest bit indecent, who answers sweetly to every request and never, ever, ever refuses to fill any perceived need of your husband's if it can be accomplished within the laws of physics, who knows intuitively when to speak and when to be quiet, who never manipulates to get her own way and lives only to serve others - I have a gorgeous hollow-head bullet with your name on it. I savor the clicks as I lock and load the gun, then pull the trigger without hesitation, aiming right between your eyes.
Superhomemaker, you who maintain a spotless domicile with glossy floors that never see more than a week between in-depth cleanings, who has perfectly matched furniture sets and costly, coordinated decorations in each room, who always stays within budget for groceries and makes even breakfast a well-balanced, home-cooked meal - I gladly entwine my fingers in your hair and embed my fingernails in your scalp as I push your perfect head under ice-cold water and hold you there until the bubbles stop coming to the surface.
My superimages have been killing me.
I meet so many people who have superwhatever rattling around in their head. They have this person they are convinced they are supposed to be, and their superwhatever is killing them. They have this image they picked up over the years of how they are supposed to look and act and work and play and talk, and it's like a voice that never stops shouting in their ear.Bell goes on to say that they only way to avoid being killed by this superimage is to kill it first.
I realize this is true for me. However grisly and macabre it might sound:
Supermom, you who never let your child utter a second wail before you are crib-side with comforting words and an always adequate milk supply, who always sets aside any task from clipping toenails to disarming a nuclear bomb in order to play with your tot in mind-building activities - I place my determined hands firmly around your throat and happily, gleefully choke off all rivulets of air making their way to your lungs.
Superwife, you who can still wear every perfectly-mended item of clothing from your size-4 days in college, who looks alluring enough to draw other manly gazes yet never the slightest bit indecent, who answers sweetly to every request and never, ever, ever refuses to fill any perceived need of your husband's if it can be accomplished within the laws of physics, who knows intuitively when to speak and when to be quiet, who never manipulates to get her own way and lives only to serve others - I have a gorgeous hollow-head bullet with your name on it. I savor the clicks as I lock and load the gun, then pull the trigger without hesitation, aiming right between your eyes.
Superhomemaker, you who maintain a spotless domicile with glossy floors that never see more than a week between in-depth cleanings, who has perfectly matched furniture sets and costly, coordinated decorations in each room, who always stays within budget for groceries and makes even breakfast a well-balanced, home-cooked meal - I gladly entwine my fingers in your hair and embed my fingernails in your scalp as I push your perfect head under ice-cold water and hold you there until the bubbles stop coming to the surface.
My superimages have been killing me.
August 01, 2006
Afternoon Delight
With Nathan down for his afternoon nap, I thought I'd get on the stick about finally painting the rest of the dining room set I'm redoing.
Immersed in my task, I suddenly heard baby chortles over the baby monitor.
Funny... he was silent just a moment ago.
Silence again.
More baby chuckles.
-This continued for several minutes, until my curiosity was piqued. I trekked upstairs quietly, brush in hand, to see if it was a stuffed animal, ceiling fan or something else that had him so amused.
None of the above. He apparently had the hiccups and that sensation was what was making him laugh.
[Hiccup] baby belly giggle
I love those laughs.
Immersed in my task, I suddenly heard baby chortles over the baby monitor.
Funny... he was silent just a moment ago.
Silence again.
More baby chuckles.
-This continued for several minutes, until my curiosity was piqued. I trekked upstairs quietly, brush in hand, to see if it was a stuffed animal, ceiling fan or something else that had him so amused.
None of the above. He apparently had the hiccups and that sensation was what was making him laugh.
[Hiccup] baby belly giggle
I love those laughs.
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