I'm Floored!

My original intent today was to log on and post a bunch of photos of my spectacular new kitchen. Aside from a thin strip of molding and a cabinet door that still has to be replaced which will mark the official completion of the kitchen, it is, for all intents and purposes, done.

But right now I just feel like whining. Actually, I feel like crying, but whining won't make me puffy and ruin my makeup. I spent the majority of this weekend putting the finishing touches on the first floor. I hung shelves and mirrors and artwork. I arranged furniture. I re-potted all the houseplants. I swept and vacuumed and got on my hands and knees to bring the floor to a reflective shine. And I dusted every nook and cranny.

However, as I type this, Rob is tearing up the entire foyer and hallway to lay new hardwood and I had forgotten exactly how dirty and loud that was the first time around. I'm sure it doesn't help that my office is situated directly below all the banging, but it also wouldn't surprise me if the neighbors called to remind me of New Hope's noise ordinance.

Unfortunately when they were installing the flooring the first time, someone dripped a big glob of liquid nail on the floor. That in and of itself is not a big deal -- just yesterday I painted a mirror and got a big stripe of green paint across the pink shirt I was wearing. Accidents happen. But I saw the spill and pointed it out just in case neither of the Robs noticed it. And then I went back downstairs to my office.

Later I did notice that the glue glob was gone. But it had apparently attached itself to the bottom of Rob's shoe and multiplied into little amoeba-shaped sneaker tread stamps up and down the length of the foyer. On the inside I experienced a full-blown panic attack, while on the outside I simply raised my eyebrows and pointed at all the new floor tattoos, speechless while Rob assured me that it was not a big deal. "No worries," he said in his confident, charming English accent. "A little denatured alcohol will take care of that. We'll clean it up when we're all done."

I wasn't happy, but I didn't want to initiate a conflict with the guy who still had a lot of electrical and plumbing work to do around here. So I let it go. For 8 weeks. Rob even went on vacation for 2 weeks and I cleaned and painted and organized around his sneaker prints, sneering at them in passing.

I made print removal our top priority upon his return and he quietly set off to wipe up the spots. And what I learned over the next two days is that denatured alcohol was definitely never meant to come into contact with this floor's specific finish. That and you should never use a green scrubby on a low-lustre hardwood.

The finish in an entire 50-square foot area became cloudy and mottled and picked up subsequent footprints that somehow became permanent blemishes in the new chemical makeup of the floor. On top of that, not only did the floor take on a permanent "fog," but after I cleaned it 3 times with the finest hardwood cleaners, it also began to squeak like the parquet at an NBA game. It didn't happen anywhere else... you'd just be walking from the kitchen, let's say, and all of a sudden, squeak, squeak, squeak, like Kobe Bryant might be rushing up behind you for the game-winning layup.

Rob tried a variety of cleaners. He tried an electric buffer. He really did want to make it right. But with each subsequent attempt, the finish just got worse. So, now, after we purchased 5 more boxes of wood, he's up there whacking and nailing away while I try to concentrate on writing this. I don't want to sound like a bitchy perfectionist. In fact, conflict of any nature makes me wildly uncomfortable. I just want the brand new floor to look, well, brand new. At least until *I* accidentally gouge it with a stiletto, or one of the kids drops a pair of 'point down' scissors. Is that too much to ask?

Potty Mouth

I just fell in love.

I mean the head-over-heels kind of love where you just want to stare longingly and softly stroke the object of your affection. It's the kind of love that most mere mortals simply don't understand. Unfortunately I'm pretty sure it's a one-way attraction, but isn't that the fruit of many of the world's greatest love stories? But who knows? If my toilet could talk, it might too speak of a Shakesperean longing for my presence.

Maybe it's just the full moon talking, but I've been experiencing some sort of a weird animal attraction to my new powder room lately. I could just stand in there and admire my handiwork all day long. Or at least for a good, quality handful of minutes each day.

The powder room happened quite by accident, as it turns out. It wasn't even on the radar when this project began, but like many spectacular ideas, it was born of a desire for tranquility and peace. You see, long ago, I noticed that the original pedestal sink was crooked. But it wasn't a correctable type of crookedness -- the bowl of the sink was molded incorrectly, like the porcelain pourer was riding out a nasty hangover the day our particular unit came down the assembly line. Steve reassured me time and again that no one would ever notice and that I was being a little anal retentive -- which I admit is rather amusing in a conversation about a bathroom. I explained to Steve that just because (most of) our friends and family have the good manners to ignore such a defect, people will still notice, and, well, it just bothered me.

So, we set off on a quest to replace the sink. After 1 or 7 too many martinis one night, we hastily negotiated a deal with someone from Craig's List for their adorable scalloped pedestal sink, which I realized only after it arrived had 2 ribbed "shells" sculpted out of it for the soap. Now I have nothing against shells in and of themselves, but I don't want to rest my decorative soaps on them. I just kept envisioning the cleaning nightmare that might cause and admitted my lapse in judgment. Being the mensch he is, Steve allowed me to not only get a new sink, but do it without him by my side, virtually guaranteeing a sizable expenditure.

Ah, not so, boys and girls. I found the sink directly out of the fantasy in my head and the best part is that it was on clearance. So, I got the toilet too! Both have that wonderful, square "Kohler" line, which prompted the statement, "Rob, guess what? I have a great idea! Chair rail and wainscoting in the powder room! What do you think?"

I said to my co-worker Margie that it's almost easier to have limits -- to have constraints within which to work. But here I had this fantastic, albeit diminutive blank canvas to knock out of the park. The options were a bit overwhelming. And then I flipped through that day's mail and found the answer. Flowers. White plaster reliefs from Expressions, and then I thought dark brown background, and well, it all just came together. To stick with the "square" theme, I chose a Pottery Barn mirror, new towel/TP hardware, and a chrome/white 1-bulb light from Bellacor. The storage shelf is a do-it-yourself model from Target!

And I love it. I don't plan to start any movements for the legal rights of those in love with inanimate objects or anything. But I do love it.