Stuck In The Safe Room With You
Our house looks like a crime scene in progress. Everywhere you look plastic covers the walls, floors and windows. The painters have arrived, and the DIY bus has left the building. Years ago, I scraped the popcorn off the ceilings in a total of four rooms. The last room I did ended with me looking like the ghost of all DIY projects past, present, and future. I was covered in a white pile of wet, lumpy, ceiling popcorn in a room hazed over with ceiling dust. Never again. All things considered, it was time to admit defeat and call in the pros. I googled, interviewed, got estimates and picked my painters.
I thought it would be a breeze, but I've spent more time dealing with this current project than any of the other DIY projects I had taken on by myself. Between the research, interviews, estimates, dinners that were late or burned, and the furniture that had to be moved, I was exhausted! The stairs have become my enemy, with countless trips to move pictures, mirrors, lamps and other objects. I swear, when this is over I'm chucking out everything that isn't necessary and looking forward to a monastic kind of life, if in decor only, and a one story home.
Bubba (Yes, that's really his name.), is in the hall, halfway up the ladder to reach the second story, foyer ceiling. I want so desperately to pull up his pants, afraid that the falling wet popcorn will dry in his backside decolletage, causing permanent damage. Plus, once seen, it's almost impossible to look away from. It's like a natural disaster waiting to happen. Bubba's co-worker is in the living room, singing away about guns and horses, while belching his Pepsi in rhythm. The new puppy has peed in the corner of the kitchen out of absolute terror. My daughter is giving a running commentary on everything they are doing, my husband is working from home, tut-tutting at every belch, and I feel the need to add stronger libation to my coffee. We are trapped in the kitchen, the last bastion free of ceiling dust and wet paint. This is our new "safe room."
Worse still, I realized I hadn't thought out the necessities. We have access to the outside, but absolutely no access to a bathroom. I'm now dreading my morning coffee intake and hoping to make it to break time. We've started sneezing from the falling dust, even though our haven is sealed off with plastic, and we can't find the Kleenex. It's buried somewhere in a corner with all the other moved items. We've resorted to paper towels, and our noses are raw. The sound of ladders being closed, opened and moved can't block out Bubba's friend as he sings, and the ladders sound like nails on a chalk board. Up above it all, Bubba is leaning over, and my eyes will never be the same.
I'm grateful and fortunate to have this done for our family. It's costly, messy and the lion share of the work is off of my shoulders. These guys work hard for the money and do it with pride. My daughter looks at me and chuckles, my husband sighs and continues his work from home progress, and the dog is currently tucked in her bed, snoring in rhythm to the belching coming from the other side of our plastic sanctuary. It's not all bad, but they just brought in worker number three, and both he and Bubba's friend have commenced to singing, and Bubba is swaying on the ladder to the beat, with little sashays of his backside.
I thought it would be a breeze, but I've spent more time dealing with this current project than any of the other DIY projects I had taken on by myself. Between the research, interviews, estimates, dinners that were late or burned, and the furniture that had to be moved, I was exhausted! The stairs have become my enemy, with countless trips to move pictures, mirrors, lamps and other objects. I swear, when this is over I'm chucking out everything that isn't necessary and looking forward to a monastic kind of life, if in decor only, and a one story home.
Bubba (Yes, that's really his name.), is in the hall, halfway up the ladder to reach the second story, foyer ceiling. I want so desperately to pull up his pants, afraid that the falling wet popcorn will dry in his backside decolletage, causing permanent damage. Plus, once seen, it's almost impossible to look away from. It's like a natural disaster waiting to happen. Bubba's co-worker is in the living room, singing away about guns and horses, while belching his Pepsi in rhythm. The new puppy has peed in the corner of the kitchen out of absolute terror. My daughter is giving a running commentary on everything they are doing, my husband is working from home, tut-tutting at every belch, and I feel the need to add stronger libation to my coffee. We are trapped in the kitchen, the last bastion free of ceiling dust and wet paint. This is our new "safe room."
Worse still, I realized I hadn't thought out the necessities. We have access to the outside, but absolutely no access to a bathroom. I'm now dreading my morning coffee intake and hoping to make it to break time. We've started sneezing from the falling dust, even though our haven is sealed off with plastic, and we can't find the Kleenex. It's buried somewhere in a corner with all the other moved items. We've resorted to paper towels, and our noses are raw. The sound of ladders being closed, opened and moved can't block out Bubba's friend as he sings, and the ladders sound like nails on a chalk board. Up above it all, Bubba is leaning over, and my eyes will never be the same.
I'm grateful and fortunate to have this done for our family. It's costly, messy and the lion share of the work is off of my shoulders. These guys work hard for the money and do it with pride. My daughter looks at me and chuckles, my husband sighs and continues his work from home progress, and the dog is currently tucked in her bed, snoring in rhythm to the belching coming from the other side of our plastic sanctuary. It's not all bad, but they just brought in worker number three, and both he and Bubba's friend have commenced to singing, and Bubba is swaying on the ladder to the beat, with little sashays of his backside.
Comments
Post a Comment
Thank you so much for visiting, and commenting! We really appreciate it, we really do. We publish comments as soon as we are assured that you are not a robot or a spammer - in other words, low lifes need not apply.