Demolition!

It all started out innocently enough. I was going to paint the living room and the kitchen. And the next thing you know we were patching giant cracks in the walls, cutting and installing missing moulding pieces, moving furniture . . . It is definitely out of hand!

How many things are wrong in this picture?

Brandon needs to earn his Family Life merit badge, and one thing he has to do is organize a family project. So I suggested he organize the painting of the living room.

Brandon tapes.

Brandon paints while Kaylie removes the curtain rod.

Kaylie paints.

All the kids paint.

Bruce paints.

I paint. 
(You have no idea how brave of me it was to stand on the highest step of the step-ladder, with the ladder right on the edge of the stairway. I was working on a second coat.)

And I still couldn't reach to the top;
I had to have Bruce finish it later.

Ryan helps me tape and paint the kitchen.

Luna wasn't very excited—no, she was excited, but not very happy about the scroll-saw. (Which is not the best tool to use to cut mouldings, but it's what I had.)

Right in the middle of The Big Painting Project, we had The Toilet Trouble that I talked about in my last post. And since we had to remove the bathtub so that we could fix a humongous hole in the floor, I decided we should get started on that while the toilet was out. So, out came the tub-surround walls, and out came the bathtub...

You are thinking, "That is not a humongous hole!"
That's because you are not seeing it from the basement.

Ryan works on cutting away caulk.

Scott and Ryan carry out the wall/surround pieces.
(Out to the back deck, to join the toilet.)

lovely

Well, I got the overflow drain, and the spigot, and the shower-mixer handle off; I got the surround walls down, but I couldn't disconnect the drain in the bottom of the tub. Gregory came over and did that for me. Now I'm pretty tough, and my friends call me brave for doing things like taking out the toilet, but I didn't think I could actually take the bathtub out by myself. Or even with my boys' help. I saved that job for Bruce.

Bruce had to tear out the actual walls—and the moulding from the door—to get the bathtub out.

Luna, the camouflage cat, was very, very interested.

Bruce and Brandon carry the bathtub outside.
Do you like the blurry action-shot?

Peek-a-boo, Lindsey!

And Rachel is showing us what the bathroom looks like now.

Once the bathtub was removed, I got back to painting. The painting is almost finished—just some doors and trims to do. And the bathroom. But before I can paint the bathroom we have to tear out the rotten floor, replace it, put in a new bathtub, tile the floor, and tile the walls around the tub. And then, maybe one day, my house will be all put back together again. Maybe.

She Did What?

Yesterday a very bad thing happened. Something that shouldn't have, got flushed down the toilet. I think it was a fork; maybe a spoon. I tried using a hanger-wire to fish it out; nope. I couldn't find the plumbing snake. So I shut off the valve and flushed out as much water  as I could, and then I started feeling around down the drain . . . nothing. At least, nothing like a utensil. It was kind of slimy, so I didn't stay in there for very long. The only thing left for me to do was to take out the toilet.

So I told the kids the upstairs toilet was off limits, and this morning I went to the hardware store and bought a new wax ring, and a new "attach the tank to the bowl" kit, and a new toilet seat (because the old one was kind of worn out—ten people in this house, you know). Then I came home and wasted some time, postponing the inevitable. But, finally, I got to work: I was going to remove that toilet, find the fork/spoon, and save the day. Yes, I was.

This is not completely unprecedented. When we lived in Tennessee one of our toilets in our little trailer-home had a leaking, hairline crack in the bowl, so while Bruce was at school I bought a new one and replaced the broken one. I knew I could do it because I'd seen my brother Gregory install a toilet once before. And it worked fine—no leaks or anything!

Man! What a mess! I am not usually such a slob as to leave
empty TP rolls, and bent coat hangers on the floor! Or utility-
knives, screws and screwdrivers on the counter.
Anyway, that toilet looks innocent enough, but
it turned out to be a formidable opponent.

Well, first I had to take off the toilet seat. Toilet seats are attached to the bowl with super long, nylon bolts and nuts—easy to remove. Unless, of course, the screwdriver tears out the slots instead of turning the stupid bolt; then it's a little harder. Eventually I got the bolts loose, but it was taking forever to get the nuts completely off of them. Finally I grabbed the tree-trimmer and cut through the bolts. Ta-daa! Worked beautifully. Then the toilet seat went into the trash can.

Oh. Actually the first thing I did was shut off the valve. Righty-tighty. :-)

Then I got rid of the little extra bit of counter-top that was over the tank so I could actually work on the tank. The toilet tank is attached to the bowl with two big, metal nuts and bolts. It took some effort—a lot of effort—to get the right side loose. Then the last of the water in the tank started leaking out all over me. But the bolt on the left side wouldn't come loose at all. It was in a very difficult spot to get at—way back, in the back where I had to reach my arm's length between the cabinet and the toilet to work. I was getting mighty friendly with that commode—cheek-to-cheek sometimes. (Yes, I cleaned and disinfected it thoroughly before I started the job, but still . . .)

After forever, I decided that the only way I was taking the tank off completely was if I had easier access to the whole thing. That meant I had to bolt the right side of it back down, then undo the floor bolts and lift the toilet—bowl, tank, and all—and move it somewhere else. Like the middle of the bathroom floor. The floor bolts were a little easier to undo, but not much. And, of course, when I lifted the toilet up, more water started leaking out the bottom of it. Yuck.

Yes folks, this is what you find underneath your toilet, even in the cleanest of homes. Also there's a lot of dust-bunnies congregated on the wall behind the tank. So I suppose the bonus to removing the commode is that now I can thoroughly clean all around it. Yay, me.
 And, by the way, this picture looks like the toilet is laughing at me—which it probably is.

I set the bowl on an old rag and slid it to where I could work on it more easily . . . "easily." After another forever, and lots more water leaking out all over my hands, and with the help of a socket wrench and a screwdriver, I got the stupid tank off. Yay!

Then I lifted the bowl into the bathtub to pour out any remaining water (there wasn't much) and see if I could find the offending utensil from the bottom end of the drain. Nope. I figure it's pretty well stuck in the U-bend. Great. So I sat down and cried for about twenty minutes. Then I took the whole discombobulated throne and stuck it out on the back deck where it could make a lovely planter.

I'm thinking a fern would look lovely.

In the meantime, the bathroom was really starting to reek. I mean, really reeking. So I hurried to clean up as much wax from the floor as I could, poured about five gallons of water down the drain, and stuffed a rag in it. (The rag will go into the trash later.) And after two-and-a-half hours of grime, sweat, and tears (no blood, though) there we are.

That looks and smells much less offensive.

Next thing on my agenda was a really looooonnng shower. A really long shower.

Will we ever find the problem? Will we have to buy a new commode? What crazy project will Loralee tackle next? You'll find the answers to these questions and more in the next episode.

Makeover

A couple of weeks ago I was strolling through the mall with my husband (which doesn't happen often these days), when a smartly-dressed young man stepped out of a store-front and offered me a sample of . . . something. It was some skin-care/cosmetics place. He asked me what I currently used on my face and I told him the truth: warm water and a soft cloth; sometimes soap. And he said (sounding slightly horrified), "Did you just stop caring?"

Really?! Did he actually ask me that? My response could have been, "Are you stupid?" Because I was always told that you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. At the time, though, I couldn't think of anything; I took the sample and kept walking. Since then I have decided that the best response would have been, "Do I look like I stopped caring?" Because either way he answered, he would impale himself. But, despite all that, I did not get a makeover.

No, my bedroom got a makeover this past week!  I have been getting tired of our red walls—lovely as they were—and wanting something a little . . . quieter? more neutral? Maybe just different. I've been feeling this way for a year or so, but when I mention it to Bruce he always says, "I like our red walls!"  Well, I've liked them too, but I wanted a change. And guess what? When the cat is away . . .

The first stroke is the scariest . . .

So I started out with a nice color called Autumn Haze (by Glidden). I chose it because it was similar to the Elbow Room and Sewing Room that we added on last year, but less green. But once I got the first coat on, it looked like toothpaste on the walls! I needed to do a second coat anyway, so I opted for Tawny Birch, which is warmer.

I did have an accident during the painting process.

See this?

I was trying to set up that lamp on the back of the chair so it would point up at the ceiling, to make it easier to see where I still needed to paint the second coat of paint. What I didn't see was the newly emptied paint-can right there, and my cell phone right next to the base of the lamp. Oh nooooo! I had all this stuff in my hands as I sat there watching my cell phone fall, slowly spinning, tumbling over and over and over, until it landed—plop!—right smack in the middle of the paint-can, where the dregs of paint were just deep enough to cover it entirely! I couldn't have tossed it into that can from two feet away and have it land as perfectly centered as it did.

Well, it wasn't as traumatic as you might think because my phone is a piece of junk anyway. And that's not just sour grapes! I can only hear my phone calls if I put it on speaker-phone and hold it up to my ear. And when I hold it to my ear, the dial pad shows up so that if it gets closer to my face than an inch  the "buttons" start beeping at me. So it was just possible that a dunk in the paint could actually improve the quality of my phone. 

Well, I grabbed the phone out of the paint and ran into the bathroom where I rinsed it under cool, running water—because, Hey! it couldn't hurt now. Then I took it all apart, dried it with a soft towel, and left it to finish air-drying overnight. And guess what? It works as well as it ever did! So I am in the market for a new phone.

I had hoped to have the bedroom all painted and put back together before Bruce came home for the weekend, but no. He got to see half of our furniture sitting out in the hallway. And he got to see the walls finished, but not the trim.

Rachel autographed my closet door probably eight years ago. Bruce was here when I painted her name away.

I finally finished putting everything together yesterday. Wanna see? (If you don't, just close the page now.)

before

After (New bedding, too. Yay!)

It could use some sage green roller-shades instead of sheets in the windows, I think. But that's something to do later.

before

After

I even rearranged the stuff on top of the dressers.

So, it's way different! And the room seems so much bigger and uncluttered. (Well, it really is less cluttered, because I cleaned it too. But it seems bigger and less cluttered than it did when it was clean and had the red walls.) And I'm liking it! :-)

25th Anniversary

Twenty-five years ago today I married Bruce David North. Today hasn't been exactly how I planned to spend our 25th anniversary; in fact, it hasn't been at all. I had thought we'd take a trip to some romantic, little place—at least for two or three days—and see new things, do something fun and exciting, and just enjoy being alone together. But, alas! He is in Vernal, doing parent-teacher conferences, and I am here, driving carpools, cleaning house, and doing other dreary household stuff. :-(
(You can cry for me here, if you feel the urge . . .)

But it has been a good twenty-five years. A great twenty-five years! I have spent them with my very best friend, and it doesn't get much better than that.

From here:

to here:

to here:

to here:

to here:

and everything in-between, I can't think of anyone I'd rather spend still another twenty-five years with.

To Bruce:

It's You I like,

It's not the things you wear,

It's not the way you do your hair—

But it's You I like.

The way you are right now,

The way down deep inside you—
Not the things that hide you,
Not your toys—
They're just beside you.

But it's You I like—

Every part of you,

Your skin, your eyes, your feelings
Whether old

or new.

I hope that you'll remember
Even when you're feeling blue

That it's You I like

It's You, yourself,

It's You,

It's You I like.

Happy 25th Anniversary, You!
I love you.