Um, if you were planning on visiting me anytime soon, I might have to advise against it.
See- I've got good news and bad news.
The bad news is that "Diarrhomit" continues. And I've about had it up to here.
(NOT PICTURED. EVER. EVER EVER EVER. BUT IT'S BURNED IN MY BRAIN.)
There are no words to describe this catastrophe of body juices. Wait. Let me attempt such a description:
Imagine, if you will, your child vomiting all over the floor, splashing the baseboards, and as you assess the damage, you can hear that child simultaneously fill his drawers. And then he takes one wrong step and slips in said spew.
Been there? Done that? Double pound to the chest then, parents.
As I wander my house with a steamer and lemon-scented disinfectant (I'll never feel the same way about lemon again), let's just move on to the good news.
The good news? My house is all kinds of tore up.
Yes, I said good news.
Family room has looked like so since Monday.
Can't even open my front door due to furniture shuffling.
Operation "Hardwood" has commenced.
I've got blisters, a super sore arm, I've clubbed my ankle and a kneecap with the mallet (but not my head yet so there), I've ate, slept, dreamed, and breathed hardwood installation,
and I couldn't be happier. It is so purty. It's my dweam come true.
I expect to finish up today. Wanna know how much we have left?
30 inches. Yes. 3.0.
When it's 11:00 at night, knees ache, arms are on fire, and the hubs is literally soaked in sweat from swinging a mallet(I could ring out his shirt. I josh not.), it's time to give it a rest, I'd say.
Told the hubs we could just put the couch back and no one would know we didn't finish.
He didn't think I was very funny.