house

Scott, bless him, offered to come up for a few days around New Year's, and we've been busy creatures during that time. The New Job™ means I work out of the house, but the bad part? I didn't really have a good workspace for me, my phone, and my laptop.

We needed to fix that, but doing so meant that we needed to tear down not one but TWO corner desks, combine two computers into a single work station, put in shelving, and blah and meow and etc.

Good news: we're mostly done.

I had huge help this weekend from Crystal and Jacob. Because of Jeff's accident, I wasn't able to take my earned holidays for Christmas and New Year's, and since it was nearing the end of March, it was verging on use-or-lose status for them. I'd been babbling incessantly about doing a Great Shelving Project to anyone who would listen (and several people who politely wished I'd just shut up) and we finally got cracking on it. Of course, about halfway through, Jacob had an insight which totally changed the course of the project — more on that insight after the photos.

Previously, the only shelving in the master bedroom had been the tiny corner shelves, which you see empty in this photo. The white ones are all new. Five new sturdy shelves for books I don't want to keep in the main areas, plus the random items that need keeping in a bedroom:

It’s unfortunate that ants won’t die if you just swear at them. After yesterday’s scrubfest, I have airtight scientific proof of this fact. While ants will die if you spray them with orange-scented cleanser (is it the fact that it’s a cleanser or that it’s orangey that does the killing, I wonder?) and swear at them, swearing alone does not seem to do the trick.Ants are difficult to squish.

We set out on a Saturday afternoon to conquer the wilds of the furniture stores, a few days after Misty and I had performed our scouting mission for sectionals. I consider furniture shopping an occasional, horrific necessity, similar in scope and pain threshold to car shopping.

Do not mistake me: like the purchase of my car two years ago, I will celebrate the purchase of this sectional once it is completed. We are both looking forward to the furniture shuffling that will take place once the purchase is made, but the process….Well, the process of getting there, I could really and truly do without. Okay, perhaps not the entire process, but I think I’d be happier if I were at least allowed to superficially wound the furniture salesmen that annoy me.

My bones sang ‘done’ before I could even get off the ladder. Even though the notes were a bit premature, I let them come anyway. Only when the tape was down and the first coat of touchup paint was applied did I really allow myself to think ‘done’ and mean it.

Even now, the word is still debatable, but my relief is not.

Do interior painting even once and you learn the dance: tape up, paint up, tape down, patch areas of missing color with new wall color, patch areas of new-color overspray with the trim color. Get off ladder. Sleep.

Almost there, kid.

I started yanking the tape down in earnest at seven-thirty tonight, and within thirty minutes the striped Medusa pile lay in the entranceway, ready to grab the pants leg of anyone who ventured too close. After the tape was down, I picked up the bucket of red paint and began to clean up lines made ragged by the tape’s removal.

Supposedly, childbirth is something like this, on a grander and more primal level: you hate every single moment of the process but, the moment it’s over, you forget the pain and oooh and aaah over the end result.

Bonus point #1 to childbirth: the end result provides you with one Eternally Good Guilt Trip card for the rest of your existence.

Bonus point #1 to furniture finishing: people look at you funny if you kick off your shoes and prop your feet up on your kids when company comes over. Bonus point #2: unless your table sets amazing new records for furniture intelligence, your college tuition costs are pretty much guaranteed to be nil.

Bonus point #2 to childbirth: grandtables are rare, and according to rumor, not nearly so satisfying as grandchildren.