Dog Tired

I saw the date of my last post, and my shoulders slumped. I hadn't realized it had been so long since I posted. I'm in the midst of Paint World 2006 these days, and days pass quickly when you're actually working with paint instead of watching it dry.

I've Kilzed (if it wasn't a word before, it is now) most of the upstairs surfaces that might have been considering harboring mildew or mold. That took 7 hours last Thursday. I intended to paint some of the ceilings this last weekend, but Trent had a cold and Nathan was snerfy, too, so I stayed home with my men. Down time. Much needed.

Today I went back over to finish up priming a closet interior and pull all the staples out of Nathan's bedroom floor (curse those carpet layers who actually want the flooring to stay in place, using 50-bajillion staples to do so). It actually took me over an hour to pull every single staple out. An hour of yanking staples individually with a pair of pliers. I must be insane.

I finished my day around 5:30 this evening by (finally!) painting our bedroom ceiling.

The plumbers came today to put shut-off valves on everything that didn't have it (which was most of the water-related aspects of the house); a flooring specialist took a look at our floors and told me I was going to hate him. If a flooring specialist ever tells you this, don't ask him why. He'll actually respond.

Turns out we need new vinyl underlayment. For all of the rooms where we want vinyl. All. of. the. rooms. Laundry room plus hallway plus kitchen plus bathroom equals ~250 square feet... Underlayment comes in 4'x4' sheets at $8 a sheet... If the vinyl isn't laid correctly, you can detect even a grain of sand underneath... -Trent heard this last comment and told me to ask the guy how much he'd charge to lay it for us; Trent doesn't want to lay it under that kind of pressure. So... underlayment plus labor cost plus needing the money on hand because the guy would do it on his own time and (of course) couldn't take a credit card payment... Final sum? One swirling mass of misdirected mental mess.

Bed. Now. Me--and my scratchy throat.