Floored

The dog died and our last reason for not doing something about our awful, disgusting carpet died with him. When we bought the house 12 years ago, we were informed the owner had installed the cheapest possible carpet to sell the place.

It was indeed cheap, and crappy, and really light beige. But, you know, kids and dogs, and potty training, and chocolate milk, and juice, and muddy shoes…

We just…let it ride…for more than a decade.

Once, in a fit of exhaustion, I ripped the carpet out of the dining room, which was also the main traffic pattern in the house – path to the kitchen and all – because I couldn’t face the futile task of cleaning it one more time. We polished the slab, applied some sealer, and had a “designer” cement floor for a couple of years.

The rest of the house was a scruffy calico of cheap oak veneer, tile, and fraying carpet mottled with stains.

The stairs in particular were bad – both ugly and approaching official bio-hazard designation.

I was repelled by my own stairs and I'm pretty sure everyone else who saw them was disgusted too.

On the up side, we had 12 years to save for a new floor...so, that was nice.

So, our last pup left in early August, just after his 14th birthday, and we no longer had the barrier of a dog who would slip and break a hip running down uncarpeted stairs. We spent a week not talking about the floors out of respect for the dearly departed. Then the dam broke and, um, discussions ensued about what kind of flooring we wanted or needed really. This was followed by three contentious weeks deciding on a color and pattern.

Fortunately, our marriage survived.

We had vendors in to give quotes, and Mr. Puff spoke wistfully about getting the floor replaced before Athena and Badger’s birthdays, which are only seven days apart and so usually celebrated together. I was all, “C’mon dude, nobody’s going to be able to get us in that quick. Think mid-to-late October. We’ll just have to go through one more party with disgusting floors. We’ll survive.”

We got the quotes, we chose a guy on a nice warm Wednesday in early Autumn, signed the contract, scanned it an emailed it back. He sent us a text the next afternoon, Thursday, to let us know he’d be coming Friday morning to get started in the small rooms upstairs.

Not in a couple of weeks, or a month, or late October... The. Next. Day.

Okay, that’s abrupt, but we can do that.

Even though I had three client projects abruptly kick into high gear on the same day…that's okay, we can make it work. And, yay, I guess we’re getting new floors before those birthday parties, which now needed to be rescheduled, but whatever, let’s go, we’ve got this!

Next Week on Hoarders…

We dragged everything the girls owned into our room and stacked it into intimidating towers around our bed. I was a tiny bit concerned there’d be an earthquake in the night and we’d be buried in kid crap, it also gave a whole new meaning to the phrase, "sleep tight." We disassembled bunk beds, stowed the frames in the garage and threw their mattresses on the floor on drop cloths.

Done! Whew, mischief managed.

Yeah…no, we have not got this.

The floors didn’t come in, but the crew showed up bright and early Friday morning.

“Don’t worry,” they said, “we’re just going to tear out all the old floors so we’re ready when the new stuff comes in on Monday."

All the floors. In the whole house. The house that hasn’t been packed up, or organized, or prepped at all.

So, there I was, in-between client calls, frantically packing everything we own with the help of some well-timed shock troops who arrived with boxes and rolls of packing fluff.

Snack time on the slab

We tore the house apart, maniacally packing and moving all the furniture and everything in or on it, emptying closets, flinging things into the garage and into the back yard, while the crew followed behind busily ripping out carpet, prying off baseboards, and chiseling up tile.

By the end of the day, I had another client project to start, our house was ripped down to sub-floor in almost every room, and I had a new appreciation for the volume of crap a family of five can cram into at 1500 square foot house.

The couch was in the kitchen and the refrigerator was parked in the family room next to the TV, but at least phase one was done, we were still marginally functional, and feeling impressed with ourselves – after all how often do you get to demonstrate that four people can pack an entire house in one day? We can relax, right?

Uh, no.

Why yes, we are Overachievers…Why do you Ask?

You know what happens when you rip your house apart and take all the furniture out of it? You notice your walls. Something you’ve been trying not to notice for years. Especially all the walls at kid height.

You also notice that you’ve been living like filthy beasts once you can see all the places usually unseen.

We’re disgusting. Seriously. So much.

Painting progressing well

And that’s how we found ourselves painting like maniacs for two days straight.

In 27 hours over Saturday and Sunday we cleaned, taped, sanded, painted, cleaned again, and put everything away.

On a side note, I really recommend tearing out your floors before you paint the house – it’s so much easier when you don’t have to worry about dripping paint all over the place.

We got almost all of the house repainted – again, we couldn’t have done it without some timely and tireless help, and 2/3 of the kids pitching in. Although, you have to watch Athena like a hawk since she paints her companions as often as she paints the walls. That’s the 11-year-old, for anyone out there who’s keeping score, who can’t seem to help herself when she’s got some fresh paint, a brush, and an unwitting victim in the vicinity.

Well, at least he was appropriately labeled

And then there was the client repeatedly emailing Saturday afternoon asking for a draft of his project three days early so he could review it over the weekend. Which is how I ended up perched on a painting stool in the middle of the night, working on a computer plopped on an empty desk in the center of a barren room, wearing paint splotched clothes, and sending drafts at 1:30 am after painting for 14 hours straight.

The following week was a horrifying carnival of working on client projects, inspecting contractor work, making decisions on flooring orientation, sub-floor repair, and baseboard design. The incessant sounds of hammering, sawing, and surprisingly lovely singing accompanied by cheerful Ranchero music echoed through the half-empty house. Meanwhile, I was outside hiding and sweating in my car, parked in my driveway, taking client calls. Still in range of our Wi-Fi bubble but with all construction noise effectively muffled.

Sure it's ugly, but we have Wi-Fi

The two weeks and two days of destruction and rebuilding were a marathon of physical labor, drastic changes in our structure and routine, and attempting to carry on as if nothing at all was amiss. The stress of meeting client deadlines, and maintaining a functional family – getting kids to school on time, doing homework, and making sure everyone was fed and clothed – with our entire house torn apart, while moving all our belongings from room-to-room each night wore me thin.

Seriously, I lost about four pounds in two weeks from all the running around and stress – though the girls claim it’s because I couldn’t get to the kitchen to snack.

This is supposed to be a kitchen

Then there was the ongoing complication of Badger's food allergies, which effectively prevent us from using every parents' crisis easy button - takeout food. Instead, we were edging around boxes to cook full dinners every night and make breakfast and lunches each morning.

It was, effectively, two weeks lived at a full sprint. I clocked 12,000 steps a day without leaving my house.

But then Mother Nature helpfully reminded me to get a grip. Every morning I’d turn on the news and see other people trying to function with their lives literally torn apart because a flood, or an earthquake, or a hurricane, or devastating fires have destroyed everything they own. Perspective, I have it.

I was reminded, forcefully that what I was doing was what you’d call good stress, productive stress – difficult but positive because we’re making good things happen. We’re working hard, but it’s to get somewhere better and it will be over soon.

It’s the End of the World as we Know it, and I Feel Fine…

They finally finished two weeks ago Monday, and then we raced to put our house back together – which, yes, did include painting the family room we couldn’t get to in the first sprint – so we could host our families for the rescheduled birthday party that Saturday.

The house survived, our marriage survived, the family is still intact...yay.

The floor is great. We're thrilled with our lovely, kid-proof vinyl flooring covering every square inch of the house. I wasn't naive, I knew redoing all the floors was going to be difficult - but I somehow didn't anticipate it would be toilet-sitting-in-my-shower, five-people-using-one-bathroom-downstairs, holyshitmylifehasbeentornapart levels of difficult.

But it's done and I can not do that again for the next 20 years or so.

We have a couple of bathrooms that still need repainting and some baseboards to fill and paint, but we’re back to fully functional and I feel fine...

If an earthquake knocks this house down right after we’ve just finished all this, I'm going to be pissed.

Before/After

I realized I don't have many before pictures of the floors - especially the carpet - because I've spent the last decade cropping it out of the picture.