My head is absolutely spinning. I'm waking up at about 2:00 each morning, panicking about everything that has to be accomplished by next Friday. Moving is stressful enough, but add a renovation on top of it, and I'm ready for a room at my friendly neighborhood mental facility.
Thank goodness for an old-fashioned to-do list -- the kind where you write it down and reference it throughout the day without clicks or apps.
One of the things on my list today was to pick out and purchase a washer and dryer. How tough could that be? Go online and see what brand has the best reviews and purchase it at a hopefully reasonable price. I mean, shopping is supposed to be the fun part of renovation, right? So I thought until I visited amazon.com, checking out reviews for clothes cleaners. How people purchasing the same product in the same year can have such disparate opinions is beyond my frazzled brain.
One reviewer gushes over the appliance like he's been fixed up on match.com, while two inches down, an angry woman would rather be boiled in hot Tide than have to use a certain dryer again. What's a simple consumer to do?
I eventually went with an average-priced duo from Whirlpool. If this brand has been the bane of your existence, please keep your thoughts to yourself, or better yet, go online and share your anger with other unsuspecting review readers.
On a less uncertain note, the drywallers finished yesterday, and although I won't know until we get it all painted, it looks fabulous. Thank you, Angie's List! And Zannder, my drywall buddy, was nice enough to whip up our dried up joint compound into a delicious mousse that glides on the wall like butta. If you're reading this, Z, thank you!
Tomorrow, the tile guy is coming back to make my grout white (I know I'm difficult, but I know what I like). And the flooring guys are dropping off the hardwood to acclimate. Apparently, flooring needs a few days to decide if your environs are worthy of their beauty. We had to go with engineered hardwood. Not our first choice, but because our subflooring is so messed up, if we wanted to use the real thing, we'd have to replace all the subflooring. Unfortunately, our budget and psyches can't handle that.
While I'm on the hardwood subject, I want to send a shout-out to LevelHead Cousin and Husband. He brought a sample of the flooring they used in their beautiful home addition for us to look at. And it turns out he spent his college summers working in his grandparents' hardwood manufacturing mill. He really educated us, and we would have loved to put his knowledge to use, but our subflooring says otherwise.
Back to the to-do list: we have to be super-efficient tomorrow because LevelHead Jr's birthday is Saturday and her dance recital is on Sunday, so our weekend will be fun but not too productive.
It's time to hit the sack for me -- let the insomnia begin!
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
It's Really Happening!
Yesterday was a day of celebration for the LevelHead Family. We finally closed on our current house!!! We were pretty sure it was going to happen, but with almost two months between accepted offer and closing date, a lot of unforeseen calamities could have taken place: the buyers could have hightailed it back to their native Korea, never to be seen again; LevelHead Canine could have taken such a huge dookie as to leave the house uninhabitable; Mr. Hubby and I could have punched holes in the walls during one of our many renovation tiffs ...
But none of these things occurred (or have been discovered as of yet), so the title company put the check into our sweaty little hands and off we went to the credit union. As long as the entire banking industry doesn't crash before we can apply the money to our new mortgage, we're safe.
Do you see what being a General Contractor has done to me? I immediately jump to the worst case scenario and then multiply that by twenty. And I was a negative person to begin with -- so you can imagine the depths of my pessimism. But there's no time for wallowing in my deep, dark imagination. Too much moving has to take place within the next ten days.
Now that the closing has happened, the reality of the move has hit me like Pat Benatar with her best shot. We're really leaving the only house that LevelHead Jr. has ever known. And we're actually going to move into the kitchen-less house that previous to yesterday only seemed to be an HGTV set that I visited for my on-camera moments.
We have no cabinets or countertops, no appliances, no floors ... If you had told me two months ago that we wouldn't have a fully functioning kitchen by now, I would have laughed. But that was before my Intensive Renovation 101 class began. And I'm nowhere near the final exam. I wonder how long I can stay in the class before I'm given an Incomplete?
But I did have a good meeting this morning with Mr. Honest, recovering cabinet maker. They still can't slow down his heart, but he looks so much better than he did before his hospital stay. And he told me he's ready for a paint color for the some of the cabinets -- PAINT COLOR!!! I've never been made so happy by two words since Mr. Hubby said ''I do". (Gotta stick in language like that occasionally; he sometimes reads this blog when I berate him long enough.)
And Zannder, drywall aficionado and sometimes artist (he does these drywall reliefs that are tres cool), is sanding as we speak and will finish the job today.
So we are making progress, just not quickly enough to outrun the semi full of moving anxiety that's barreling at us at full throttle. By the way, does anybody have any extra boxes they can send through cyberspace??
But none of these things occurred (or have been discovered as of yet), so the title company put the check into our sweaty little hands and off we went to the credit union. As long as the entire banking industry doesn't crash before we can apply the money to our new mortgage, we're safe.
Do you see what being a General Contractor has done to me? I immediately jump to the worst case scenario and then multiply that by twenty. And I was a negative person to begin with -- so you can imagine the depths of my pessimism. But there's no time for wallowing in my deep, dark imagination. Too much moving has to take place within the next ten days.
Now that the closing has happened, the reality of the move has hit me like Pat Benatar with her best shot. We're really leaving the only house that LevelHead Jr. has ever known. And we're actually going to move into the kitchen-less house that previous to yesterday only seemed to be an HGTV set that I visited for my on-camera moments.
We have no cabinets or countertops, no appliances, no floors ... If you had told me two months ago that we wouldn't have a fully functioning kitchen by now, I would have laughed. But that was before my Intensive Renovation 101 class began. And I'm nowhere near the final exam. I wonder how long I can stay in the class before I'm given an Incomplete?
But I did have a good meeting this morning with Mr. Honest, recovering cabinet maker. They still can't slow down his heart, but he looks so much better than he did before his hospital stay. And he told me he's ready for a paint color for the some of the cabinets -- PAINT COLOR!!! I've never been made so happy by two words since Mr. Hubby said ''I do". (Gotta stick in language like that occasionally; he sometimes reads this blog when I berate him long enough.)
And Zannder, drywall aficionado and sometimes artist (he does these drywall reliefs that are tres cool), is sanding as we speak and will finish the job today.
So we are making progress, just not quickly enough to outrun the semi full of moving anxiety that's barreling at us at full throttle. By the way, does anybody have any extra boxes they can send through cyberspace??
Saturday, May 25, 2013
What's Wrong With My Stuff??
As I prepared for the garage sale this morning (which went fine, although I wish we could have unloaded a few more pieces of furniture), I kept remembering the following post that I wrote for my cancer scare blog last summer. It is still true today, so I thought I'd post it again ... Happy Memorial Day!!
OK, from the title, you may be thinking that I'm wondering yet again, if my friend the volleyball* is malignant or benign. But no, the header deals with something much closer to the human experience, something that bonds us as homo sapiens like no other event-- we had a garage sale.
This is probably the fifth or sixth extravaganza we've hosted -- trying to unburden our souls and closets of all the $^*& that is holding us back from reaching our true potential as spiritual beings, and more importantly, as organized storage icons who desperately need to make room for a whole new load of crap.
And for some reason, there is no activity on earth that deflates my self-esteem faster than putting out the sale sign and hearing The Crazy Woman (she's here every year, so I think she deserves the capital letters) knock on our garage door as we do our last-minute pre-opening preparations.
The doubting questions always start to flood my brain. Will the shoppers like our stuff? Will they move beyond looking to actually buying said junk? Will they be able to fit everything into their panel vans?
My self-esteem seems to have an inverse relationship to the opening of the garage door. As it goes up, my self-worth begins the steep descent into an undeserving cesspool, from which I will not escape until the whole godforsaken event is over.
Without fail, this decline manifests itself in two primary ways. The first I call the Over-Priced Syndrome. Having stickered everything the day before when my self-esteem was at a normal level, I tag items at their true market value.
But as the garage door begins its ascent and The Crazy Woman is bending down to walk in before it's actually high enough to enter as a homo erectus, the doubts start creeping in. And I begin to hear the voices, "Everything is over-priced!" "No one is going to pay THAT much for THAT fill-in-the-blank-item!" "Do you see the crayon mark on that again-fill-in-the-blank-item?"
So I immediately begin re-pricing everything. Since I've had years of experience at this point, I now know to keep a fresh supply of stickers at the ready for "new and improved" prices. I usually reduce items by about half but may go down even more if I'm having a really bad day.
The second manifestation of my plummeting self-worth is Product Relocation. I convince myself that if the now half-priced sleeping bag with the chocolate milk stain was only on the opposite side of the driveway, people would be fighting over it. And so begins the product placement dance. Lean this against that, put this on its side and move that to the front. And it works about once every thousand maneuvers, which gives me the wherewithal to keep moving and grooving.
You would think by this stage of the sale, my self-esteem would now be at ground level with no room for further decline. But you would be wrong. It's the actual shoppers (I don't include The Crazy Woman -- you can count on her to at least buy SOMETHING for her apartment, which BTW, is going to be featured in an upcoming Hoarders episode) who really take me on a one-way ride below the earth's surface.
Do you know how hard it is to watch people who look like they are protesting personal hygiene societal rules to look your stuff over and then walk away with a condescending smirk on their faces? One guy at this sale, after the smirky walk-away, actually had to let his circa 1972 truck roll backward so he could pop the clutch to start it! THAT GUY thought he was too good for our minimally stained sleeping bag?
Even worse are the drive-bys. These are the people with their muffler-less vehicles who slowly crawl by the driveway as they inspect the offerings from afar. And they don't stop!!
About two hours into each sale, I want to start accosting the "shoppers" who buy nothing. "Hey, what's wrong with my stuff?" I've even thought of asking, "What are you looking for? I'll go in the house and get it if you promise to buy!"
This year was even worse. My friend Harriet brought some things to sell, and literally, during the first hour, the only items to go were hers! Even my usual price reductions and product placement couldn't lift me out of that self-esteem quicksand.
But having a garage sale is a lot like child birth. As the days and months go by, I start to forget the pain and agony and begin thinking that it would be great to get rid of all the junk we've accumulated in the past twelve months.
So I'm sure I'll have other sales. The only thing I ask is that if you drive by my house and see the SALE sign, please, I beg of you, at least stop and pretend you're not disgusted by my stuff...
*I often referred to my ovarian growth as a volleyball. :)
OK, from the title, you may be thinking that I'm wondering yet again, if my friend the volleyball* is malignant or benign. But no, the header deals with something much closer to the human experience, something that bonds us as homo sapiens like no other event-- we had a garage sale.
This is probably the fifth or sixth extravaganza we've hosted -- trying to unburden our souls and closets of all the $^*& that is holding us back from reaching our true potential as spiritual beings, and more importantly, as organized storage icons who desperately need to make room for a whole new load of crap.
And for some reason, there is no activity on earth that deflates my self-esteem faster than putting out the sale sign and hearing The Crazy Woman (she's here every year, so I think she deserves the capital letters) knock on our garage door as we do our last-minute pre-opening preparations.
The doubting questions always start to flood my brain. Will the shoppers like our stuff? Will they move beyond looking to actually buying said junk? Will they be able to fit everything into their panel vans?
My self-esteem seems to have an inverse relationship to the opening of the garage door. As it goes up, my self-worth begins the steep descent into an undeserving cesspool, from which I will not escape until the whole godforsaken event is over.
Without fail, this decline manifests itself in two primary ways. The first I call the Over-Priced Syndrome. Having stickered everything the day before when my self-esteem was at a normal level, I tag items at their true market value.
But as the garage door begins its ascent and The Crazy Woman is bending down to walk in before it's actually high enough to enter as a homo erectus, the doubts start creeping in. And I begin to hear the voices, "Everything is over-priced!" "No one is going to pay THAT much for THAT fill-in-the-blank-item!" "Do you see the crayon mark on that again-fill-in-the-blank-item?"
So I immediately begin re-pricing everything. Since I've had years of experience at this point, I now know to keep a fresh supply of stickers at the ready for "new and improved" prices. I usually reduce items by about half but may go down even more if I'm having a really bad day.
The second manifestation of my plummeting self-worth is Product Relocation. I convince myself that if the now half-priced sleeping bag with the chocolate milk stain was only on the opposite side of the driveway, people would be fighting over it. And so begins the product placement dance. Lean this against that, put this on its side and move that to the front. And it works about once every thousand maneuvers, which gives me the wherewithal to keep moving and grooving.
You would think by this stage of the sale, my self-esteem would now be at ground level with no room for further decline. But you would be wrong. It's the actual shoppers (I don't include The Crazy Woman -- you can count on her to at least buy SOMETHING for her apartment, which BTW, is going to be featured in an upcoming Hoarders episode) who really take me on a one-way ride below the earth's surface.
Do you know how hard it is to watch people who look like they are protesting personal hygiene societal rules to look your stuff over and then walk away with a condescending smirk on their faces? One guy at this sale, after the smirky walk-away, actually had to let his circa 1972 truck roll backward so he could pop the clutch to start it! THAT GUY thought he was too good for our minimally stained sleeping bag?
Even worse are the drive-bys. These are the people with their muffler-less vehicles who slowly crawl by the driveway as they inspect the offerings from afar. And they don't stop!!
About two hours into each sale, I want to start accosting the "shoppers" who buy nothing. "Hey, what's wrong with my stuff?" I've even thought of asking, "What are you looking for? I'll go in the house and get it if you promise to buy!"
This year was even worse. My friend Harriet brought some things to sell, and literally, during the first hour, the only items to go were hers! Even my usual price reductions and product placement couldn't lift me out of that self-esteem quicksand.
But having a garage sale is a lot like child birth. As the days and months go by, I start to forget the pain and agony and begin thinking that it would be great to get rid of all the junk we've accumulated in the past twelve months.
So I'm sure I'll have other sales. The only thing I ask is that if you drive by my house and see the SALE sign, please, I beg of you, at least stop and pretend you're not disgusted by my stuff...
*I often referred to my ovarian growth as a volleyball. :)
Friday, May 24, 2013
Pics & Things
For some reason, Mr. Hubby has strong feelings about where the sink should be located in the kitchen, so my idea (ok, Crazy Chair Drywall Guy's idea) of taking away the peninsula and moving everything to the island is a no-go.
Had to call Mr. Honest today to re-order the lazy susan and cancel the 34-inch cabinet that was going to replace it. Of course, this is the one time he's super-efficient and has already made the revised cabinet. So it looks like we're going to have really nice storage for the garage. He offered to eat the cost (that's Mr. Honest for you), but that's not fair at all. I'll probably have to fight him to take the money.
On the bright side, the drywall is looking fabulous; Zannder is at the house mudding seams as we speak. I have some pictures below.
On the picky side, the caulk that the tilers used matches the grey grout, and for some reason, I just don't like it. Unfortunately, the caulk color was spelled out in the work order, so I can't get them to change it for free. But the tiler will dig out the grey and replace it with white for 50 bucks, so I'm going to have him do it, instead of being dissatisfied forever. Mr. Hubby thinks I'm crazy, but he's come to realze that the old expression is too true: ''if mama isn't happy, ain't nobody happy.'' So I'm guessing he won't balk too much at the cost.
In perfect keeping with every other thing that's happened with this reno, the vanity I ordered for the master bathroom was damaged during delivery, so the whole thing has to be sent back and a new one reissued, but it's on back order. Of course, why would I expect anything to go easily? I think the delivery guy expected me to go ballistic, but it's pretty low on the rating scale of remodeling mishaps. So I just took a deep breath and signed the DELIVERED DAMAGED paperwork.
Today is all about the garage sale. We got a ton done yesterday (thanks to Mr. Hubby's biceps), so this afternoon I'll be pricing and setting up the display tables. Hoping for clear skies and a good turn-out ...
Here are pictures of the new drywall, including the installer, Zannder.
Had to call Mr. Honest today to re-order the lazy susan and cancel the 34-inch cabinet that was going to replace it. Of course, this is the one time he's super-efficient and has already made the revised cabinet. So it looks like we're going to have really nice storage for the garage. He offered to eat the cost (that's Mr. Honest for you), but that's not fair at all. I'll probably have to fight him to take the money.
On the bright side, the drywall is looking fabulous; Zannder is at the house mudding seams as we speak. I have some pictures below.
On the picky side, the caulk that the tilers used matches the grey grout, and for some reason, I just don't like it. Unfortunately, the caulk color was spelled out in the work order, so I can't get them to change it for free. But the tiler will dig out the grey and replace it with white for 50 bucks, so I'm going to have him do it, instead of being dissatisfied forever. Mr. Hubby thinks I'm crazy, but he's come to realze that the old expression is too true: ''if mama isn't happy, ain't nobody happy.'' So I'm guessing he won't balk too much at the cost.
In perfect keeping with every other thing that's happened with this reno, the vanity I ordered for the master bathroom was damaged during delivery, so the whole thing has to be sent back and a new one reissued, but it's on back order. Of course, why would I expect anything to go easily? I think the delivery guy expected me to go ballistic, but it's pretty low on the rating scale of remodeling mishaps. So I just took a deep breath and signed the DELIVERED DAMAGED paperwork.
Here are pictures of the new drywall, including the installer, Zannder.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Things Are Happening!!
There's no sweeter sounds in my life at the moment than the melodious hum of a working saw and the rhythmic drumming of a productive hammer.
And I had both in spades yesterday as the drywaller and tiler were working their tradesman magic. Zannder (I was told by the drywall journeyman that he prefers two n's in his alter ego's name) and his assistant Hyundai Santa Fe (he's the only contractor so far that's arrived at the house in an SUV instead of a pick-up truck) got all the drywall up in about nine hours.
That included framing of the steel header that I didn't realize was supposed to be built before drywalling began. That would be General Contractor Mistake #2, but since Zannder also has some woodworking skills, I got off pretty easy -- with no delays and minimal additional cost.
Now on to the potential kitchen design changes. I called Mr. Honest, Cabinet Maker Like No Other, and he and Kip haven't started on the Lazy Susan yet, so I told him to stop the presses (or the jigsaw) on that construction. Now I need to call the electricians and see how expensive it would be to move the sink disposal and dishwasher outlets to the island -- and the cost of moving the pendant boxes.
We're also in garage sale mode, so the current house is in complete and utter chaos. But if we can get rid of a bunch of stuff and make a tidy profit in the process, it's worth the time and effort.
I'll stop by the house today and get some pictures of the progress. I wish I didn't have so much on my mind right now with the move and LevelHead Jr's end-of-school projects that I could actually enjoy the fruits of the contractors' labor more. But right now, my brain is overloaded with everything yet to be done.
Plus, LevelHead Canine ran away again this morning and is reeking havoc in the neighborhood as we speak. I need Calgon to take me away, but going to the store to see if they still make the stuff is just one more thing I'd have to do. Guess I'll have to settle for a deep breath ...
And I had both in spades yesterday as the drywaller and tiler were working their tradesman magic. Zannder (I was told by the drywall journeyman that he prefers two n's in his alter ego's name) and his assistant Hyundai Santa Fe (he's the only contractor so far that's arrived at the house in an SUV instead of a pick-up truck) got all the drywall up in about nine hours.
That included framing of the steel header that I didn't realize was supposed to be built before drywalling began. That would be General Contractor Mistake #2, but since Zannder also has some woodworking skills, I got off pretty easy -- with no delays and minimal additional cost.
Now on to the potential kitchen design changes. I called Mr. Honest, Cabinet Maker Like No Other, and he and Kip haven't started on the Lazy Susan yet, so I told him to stop the presses (or the jigsaw) on that construction. Now I need to call the electricians and see how expensive it would be to move the sink disposal and dishwasher outlets to the island -- and the cost of moving the pendant boxes.
We're also in garage sale mode, so the current house is in complete and utter chaos. But if we can get rid of a bunch of stuff and make a tidy profit in the process, it's worth the time and effort.
I'll stop by the house today and get some pictures of the progress. I wish I didn't have so much on my mind right now with the move and LevelHead Jr's end-of-school projects that I could actually enjoy the fruits of the contractors' labor more. But right now, my brain is overloaded with everything yet to be done.
Plus, LevelHead Canine ran away again this morning and is reeking havoc in the neighborhood as we speak. I need Calgon to take me away, but going to the store to see if they still make the stuff is just one more thing I'd have to do. Guess I'll have to settle for a deep breath ...
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
What's Really Important
In the midst of our wacky lives right now, I don't want to forget all the people in Oklahoma who need our help. My thoughts and prayers are with the parents of the elementary school kids and everyone affected by the devastating tornado.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
My Own TV Show??
Well, the tiling guy is going to save Mr. Hubby's behind -- and his backside is being rescued for the low, low price of $100. That's the cost of having a professional prep LevelHead Jr's shower walls with thinset (tile adhesive) to even out the Hubster's tile mishap. Not too pricey, considering we could have been faced with replacing all the cement board and waterproofing, not to mention Mr. Hubby's relief of not having to hear my ''I told you so"s for years to come.
The tile pro will be at the house tomorrow morning to begin the actual tiling process. So excited to see something actually constructed, not destructed. This room could actually be 80% renovated by the time LevelHead Nana comes to visit in early June. Need to start shopping for shower doors ...
We received even more good news today. Got a call from Crazy Chair Drywall Guy, saying that he had a job cancel, so we got moved up in his schedule! This is the guy who fell in love with our used Scandinavian chair -- who knew his love of squeaky furniture would be so helpful to our reno?
CCDG is the owner of the company and won't actually be doing the work. He brought a colleague with him this afternoon to drop off materials so they can hit the ground running tomorrow morning. His name is Chris, but he said he prefers to go by Zander. I asked if that was his middle name. No, he answered, he was just meant to be a Zander. He's like a girl born into a boy's body. But in his case, he's a Zander born into a Chris body.
During their time at the house, we talked about flipping houses, which they've both done, and the headaches of being a General Contractor. Zander suggested that I start a public access show about house renovations/flipping. HOW COOL WOULD THAT BE??? I'd have my own little HGTV world. But where do you get the money? Do you have to finance your own show? Maybe I could get sponsors from my various suppliers and contractors. It's a dream worth considering ...
But tonight I don't have television on my mind -- I'm too obsessed with my kitchen design and potentially changing it. Crazy Chair Drywall Guy was talking before Zander got there about various kitchens he had worked in and on and suggested I might want to remove the peninsula I had planned and make the island bigger instead. It's actually a fabulous idea, and I'm kind of miffed I didn't think of it myself.
So tomorrow my first call will be to my cabinet maker, Mr. Honest. He's out of the hospital and at home resting, and hopefully, supervising his son Kip's work. Last we talked, Kip hadn't built the Lazy Susan yet. And since the LS would not be needed in this new design, for once I hope things are moving slowly.
I'll probably be up half the night daydreaming of kitchen cabinets. But I guess there are worse things to be thinking about ... like what kind of illnesses the drywall guys are probably coming down with right now. I don't exactly have a track record of healthy subcontractors ....
Can't wait to give you a tile update tomorrow.
The tile pro will be at the house tomorrow morning to begin the actual tiling process. So excited to see something actually constructed, not destructed. This room could actually be 80% renovated by the time LevelHead Nana comes to visit in early June. Need to start shopping for shower doors ...
We received even more good news today. Got a call from Crazy Chair Drywall Guy, saying that he had a job cancel, so we got moved up in his schedule! This is the guy who fell in love with our used Scandinavian chair -- who knew his love of squeaky furniture would be so helpful to our reno?
CCDG is the owner of the company and won't actually be doing the work. He brought a colleague with him this afternoon to drop off materials so they can hit the ground running tomorrow morning. His name is Chris, but he said he prefers to go by Zander. I asked if that was his middle name. No, he answered, he was just meant to be a Zander. He's like a girl born into a boy's body. But in his case, he's a Zander born into a Chris body.
During their time at the house, we talked about flipping houses, which they've both done, and the headaches of being a General Contractor. Zander suggested that I start a public access show about house renovations/flipping. HOW COOL WOULD THAT BE??? I'd have my own little HGTV world. But where do you get the money? Do you have to finance your own show? Maybe I could get sponsors from my various suppliers and contractors. It's a dream worth considering ...
But tonight I don't have television on my mind -- I'm too obsessed with my kitchen design and potentially changing it. Crazy Chair Drywall Guy was talking before Zander got there about various kitchens he had worked in and on and suggested I might want to remove the peninsula I had planned and make the island bigger instead. It's actually a fabulous idea, and I'm kind of miffed I didn't think of it myself.
So tomorrow my first call will be to my cabinet maker, Mr. Honest. He's out of the hospital and at home resting, and hopefully, supervising his son Kip's work. Last we talked, Kip hadn't built the Lazy Susan yet. And since the LS would not be needed in this new design, for once I hope things are moving slowly.
I'll probably be up half the night daydreaming of kitchen cabinets. But I guess there are worse things to be thinking about ... like what kind of illnesses the drywall guys are probably coming down with right now. I don't exactly have a track record of healthy subcontractors ....
Can't wait to give you a tile update tomorrow.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Me, Difficult?
Mr. Hubby has told me for years that I am hard to work with -- The Lazy Perfectionist, he calls me: wanting perfection, but not having the energy or patience to do it myself.
He CLAIMS that the living room in a former house required four coats of paint before I found a shade of yellow I liked. In my defense, paint looks so different on those little cards than it does on the wall (this was before paint sample jars). And anyone who loves color knows that yellow can mean so many different food hues: from banana to lemon to butter. I just didn't know what I was hungry for at the time.
So fast forward to this week. Hubby and I readily agreed on the tile for LevelHead Jr.'s bathroom. We chose a white marble with streaks of grey (the room's so small, it was affordable) with a white grout. The two of us actually worked very well together -- we didn't fight at all during installation. We discussed the layout, where to start and how to limit the amount of cuts. It was like a really boring episode of Renovation Realities on DIY network.
The Hubster did an absolutely fabulous job. It looked amazing -- notice the past tense. The problem came with the grout. The package said ''white'', but the manufacturer's definition of the color must read as ''yellow with a tan undertone'' 'cause it looked nothing like the white I expected.
Of course, he applied the grout when I wasn't there so I couldn't stop the madness. He was just finishing up when I arrived. We both hoped it would look whiter as it dried (I was hoping because I wanted a nice bright white to set off the marble; Hubby was hoping so that he didn't have to hear me complain about it ad naseum).
So we're left with beautiful tile and dirty yellow grout. We found a staining pen at the hardware store, so we'll try that out when we have more time (in three years or so).
On other reno fronts, we decided to go with Crazy Chair Drywall Guy (please see earlier post if that name makes no sense). He's saying he'll start the week of Memorial Day.
The shower tiling guy we're hiring in order to save our marriage is arriving at 9:00 tomorrow morning. Mr. Hubby has agreed to meet the guy to explain why he applied the red waterproofing ON TOP OF the dried thinset (tile adhesive) that needs to be chiseled off. If the guy goes running from the scene of the tile crime, we'll have to spend the week removing rock-hard mortar. If he tells us he's seen worse and moves ahead with the project, we'll be able to start work on the laundry room.
On a final note, we now feel our new house is officially home: LevelHead Canine ran away from it on Saturday. LevelHead Jr. and I had just gone. Mr. Hubby was loading up the car, when LHC found an opening and took off in search of deer. And due to the density of Bambies in our town, it didn't take long.
The Hubster then went on a wild deer chase around the east side of town, being told by various neighbors what direction ''they'' went, meaning LHC and the venison she was pursuing at the moment. Just when Hubby had given up and returned home dogless, she showed up at the front door like it was no big deal. How she found her way back to a house she's only been to a few times is beyond us. We're just so happy that she's not directionally challenged.
Below are a few shots of our patchwork ceilings, desperately in need of drywall repair. There's also a shot of Mr. Hubby's beautiful tile work in LHJ's bathroom -- I dare you to tell me that grout doesn't look yellow!
He CLAIMS that the living room in a former house required four coats of paint before I found a shade of yellow I liked. In my defense, paint looks so different on those little cards than it does on the wall (this was before paint sample jars). And anyone who loves color knows that yellow can mean so many different food hues: from banana to lemon to butter. I just didn't know what I was hungry for at the time.
So fast forward to this week. Hubby and I readily agreed on the tile for LevelHead Jr.'s bathroom. We chose a white marble with streaks of grey (the room's so small, it was affordable) with a white grout. The two of us actually worked very well together -- we didn't fight at all during installation. We discussed the layout, where to start and how to limit the amount of cuts. It was like a really boring episode of Renovation Realities on DIY network.
The Hubster did an absolutely fabulous job. It looked amazing -- notice the past tense. The problem came with the grout. The package said ''white'', but the manufacturer's definition of the color must read as ''yellow with a tan undertone'' 'cause it looked nothing like the white I expected.
Of course, he applied the grout when I wasn't there so I couldn't stop the madness. He was just finishing up when I arrived. We both hoped it would look whiter as it dried (I was hoping because I wanted a nice bright white to set off the marble; Hubby was hoping so that he didn't have to hear me complain about it ad naseum).
So we're left with beautiful tile and dirty yellow grout. We found a staining pen at the hardware store, so we'll try that out when we have more time (in three years or so).
On other reno fronts, we decided to go with Crazy Chair Drywall Guy (please see earlier post if that name makes no sense). He's saying he'll start the week of Memorial Day.
The shower tiling guy we're hiring in order to save our marriage is arriving at 9:00 tomorrow morning. Mr. Hubby has agreed to meet the guy to explain why he applied the red waterproofing ON TOP OF the dried thinset (tile adhesive) that needs to be chiseled off. If the guy goes running from the scene of the tile crime, we'll have to spend the week removing rock-hard mortar. If he tells us he's seen worse and moves ahead with the project, we'll be able to start work on the laundry room.
On a final note, we now feel our new house is officially home: LevelHead Canine ran away from it on Saturday. LevelHead Jr. and I had just gone. Mr. Hubby was loading up the car, when LHC found an opening and took off in search of deer. And due to the density of Bambies in our town, it didn't take long.
The Hubster then went on a wild deer chase around the east side of town, being told by various neighbors what direction ''they'' went, meaning LHC and the venison she was pursuing at the moment. Just when Hubby had given up and returned home dogless, she showed up at the front door like it was no big deal. How she found her way back to a house she's only been to a few times is beyond us. We're just so happy that she's not directionally challenged.
Below are a few shots of our patchwork ceilings, desperately in need of drywall repair. There's also a shot of Mr. Hubby's beautiful tile work in LHJ's bathroom -- I dare you to tell me that grout doesn't look yellow!
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Laser Up!
I got a call from Mr. Honest yesterday. He's going stir-crazy in critical care, but they won't release him because his heartbeat is still wacky. The medicine they thought was working stopped being effective, so the experimentation continues.
He reiterated what Mrs. Honest had told me -- that Kip, son/apprentice, is working on the cabinets and has the wall cupboards almost done. That's making me nervous, but I shouldn't judge a cabinet by its hardware. I'm hoping Mr. Honest can at the very least supervise any changes/corrections needed.
But typical of Mr. Honest, he said that he'd be at the house Monday morning to do some floor repair (I can't even believe he remembered that little job; if I was in critical care for a week, I KNOW work would not be anywhere near the realm of my brain).
He's just so funny that way because A) he doesn't know he's going to be discharged from the hospital by then; and B) even if he is, I'm sure his doctors aren't going to allow handyman work. I'm hoping they at least allow cabinet supervision. But that's my Honest friend, always wanting to get the job done.
Speaking of work being performed, electricians Smoke and Mirrors returned to finish the electrical rough-in. As I pulled up to the house (about 15 minutes early), I saw that their truck was already in the driveway. Thinking there had been a miscommunication about their start time, I approached the truck and asked if was late.
They informed me that, no, they're early -- they always get to jobs early -- or I should say NEAR the job early because Mirrors said that they wouldn't come into the house until their start time. Apparently, they like to shoot the dung like two teenage girls in the cafeteria before school starts.
But once the eight o'clock bell tolled, they came in and worked their usual magic -- putting in the island pendant light boxes and rerouting wires that Tall Drink of Water had to push to the side. The only thing that worries me is my own lack of expertise. I had marked on the floor where I thought the pendant lights should go. I assumed they'd do more intricate measuring, but no.
When I questioned how he had decided where to put the boxes (I had been in LevelHead Jr's bathroom skim coating with joint compound, my new hobby), Smoke informed me that he had ''lasered up''. Laser up?? What in the blue blazes does THAT mean? Well, it means that they pointed a laser light directly up from my crude little marks on the floor. Oh, you mean those X's I scribbled in five minutes? Fabulous.
It's just too hard to see how they'll look with all the rafters and HVAC ducts, so I'll reserve judgement until I get the actual pendant lights installed. What's a few more drywall holes if they need to be moved? Compared to this renovation, it'll be nothing -- heck, I might even try it myself. OK, maybe that's a stretch, but you get the idea.
Tomorrow, the county comes to do what they call an electrical and wall-removal "rough-in'' inspection -- before any drywall is installed. Crossing my fingers that we don't face any delays there. Whose idea was it to get a permit anyway?
Also, Mr. Hubby is tiling LevelHead Jr's bathroom floor. Will fill you in on that adventure next ...
He reiterated what Mrs. Honest had told me -- that Kip, son/apprentice, is working on the cabinets and has the wall cupboards almost done. That's making me nervous, but I shouldn't judge a cabinet by its hardware. I'm hoping Mr. Honest can at the very least supervise any changes/corrections needed.
But typical of Mr. Honest, he said that he'd be at the house Monday morning to do some floor repair (I can't even believe he remembered that little job; if I was in critical care for a week, I KNOW work would not be anywhere near the realm of my brain).
He's just so funny that way because A) he doesn't know he's going to be discharged from the hospital by then; and B) even if he is, I'm sure his doctors aren't going to allow handyman work. I'm hoping they at least allow cabinet supervision. But that's my Honest friend, always wanting to get the job done.
Speaking of work being performed, electricians Smoke and Mirrors returned to finish the electrical rough-in. As I pulled up to the house (about 15 minutes early), I saw that their truck was already in the driveway. Thinking there had been a miscommunication about their start time, I approached the truck and asked if was late.
They informed me that, no, they're early -- they always get to jobs early -- or I should say NEAR the job early because Mirrors said that they wouldn't come into the house until their start time. Apparently, they like to shoot the dung like two teenage girls in the cafeteria before school starts.
But once the eight o'clock bell tolled, they came in and worked their usual magic -- putting in the island pendant light boxes and rerouting wires that Tall Drink of Water had to push to the side. The only thing that worries me is my own lack of expertise. I had marked on the floor where I thought the pendant lights should go. I assumed they'd do more intricate measuring, but no.
When I questioned how he had decided where to put the boxes (I had been in LevelHead Jr's bathroom skim coating with joint compound, my new hobby), Smoke informed me that he had ''lasered up''. Laser up?? What in the blue blazes does THAT mean? Well, it means that they pointed a laser light directly up from my crude little marks on the floor. Oh, you mean those X's I scribbled in five minutes? Fabulous.
It's just too hard to see how they'll look with all the rafters and HVAC ducts, so I'll reserve judgement until I get the actual pendant lights installed. What's a few more drywall holes if they need to be moved? Compared to this renovation, it'll be nothing -- heck, I might even try it myself. OK, maybe that's a stretch, but you get the idea.
Tomorrow, the county comes to do what they call an electrical and wall-removal "rough-in'' inspection -- before any drywall is installed. Crossing my fingers that we don't face any delays there. Whose idea was it to get a permit anyway?
Also, Mr. Hubby is tiling LevelHead Jr's bathroom floor. Will fill you in on that adventure next ...
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
As the Lazy Susan Turns ...
The cabinet saga has taken a complicated, yet happy, turn. Mrs. Honest (cabinet-maker-to-the-stars' wife) called this morning to let me know that the doctors finally found a drug combo that is stabilizing Mr. Honest's heart.
They have also ruled out cancer and think maybe his whole problem has been caused by the influenza virus he got a few months ago. He never really healed from that, and it seems the infection has been reeking havoc in his body, causing all kinds of unrelated symptoms.
He's still in critical care, but if they have luck treating the infection, and his heart remains ticking at a rate below 100 bpm, he'll get to come home within several days.
Now that I know Mr. Honest is doing better, I guess it's OK for me to be a little more selfish about my cabinets. I was all ready to finalize an order with Lowe's, thinking Mr. Honest was out of the picture. But Mrs. Honest now tells me that their son, Kip, has been working on the cabinets while his dad has been out of commission. What? Do I really want my cupboards constructed by the equivalent of an apprentice, and especially an apprentice named Kip?
Maybe he's a fabulous woodworker; I just don't know. But I don't want to cancel the job, merely on the chance that Kip doesn't work up to his dad's standards. What's a General Contractor to do -- especially knowing that The Honest Family is worried about all the lost income from dad's time in the hospital, not to mention the medical bills? But we can't wait forever. We need the cabinets within a few weeks' time.
I said I'd check back in a couple of days to see if Mr. Honest's recovery remains on the upswing. If it's going to take him a long time to mend, I may have to bail. But what about Kip's Kupboards? Am I obligated to pay for them? Should I look at them first and then decide?
I swear, nothing has been easy with this renovation, not even getting silly cabinets made.
On a less soap operatic note, I had two drywall contractors come by this afternoon. Before looking at our patchwork ceilings, the first guy saw a chair in the corner and immediately offered to buy it. Now, this chair is a hand-me-down from Mr. Hubby's mom. It's of Scandinavian design, and apparently, this contractor is bonkers about that kind of furniture. I've never been a big fan of the chair, mostly because it squeaks really loudly when you sit in it. This guy was crazy about the squeak -- means the chair is the real-deal.
He offered $400 for it and after taking measurements for the job bid, went to the bank to get cold hard cash. While he was gone, a little light bulb went off in my head. He said that he was looking at three weeks out for the drywall work, but when he returned with the moola, I said I'd refund $100 on the chair if he could book us for the last week in May, one and a half weeks away. He seemed kind of in a chair trance by then, so he agreed to it without much thought.
The other contractor was very nice, but he didn't see any furniture he wanted, so he stuck with his ''three weeks out'' availability.
I'm supposed to get their official bids by the end of Thursday. All things being equal, I hope the chair guy's bid comes in lower. Someone that crazy would be an interesting addition to the contractor team.
They have also ruled out cancer and think maybe his whole problem has been caused by the influenza virus he got a few months ago. He never really healed from that, and it seems the infection has been reeking havoc in his body, causing all kinds of unrelated symptoms.
He's still in critical care, but if they have luck treating the infection, and his heart remains ticking at a rate below 100 bpm, he'll get to come home within several days.
Now that I know Mr. Honest is doing better, I guess it's OK for me to be a little more selfish about my cabinets. I was all ready to finalize an order with Lowe's, thinking Mr. Honest was out of the picture. But Mrs. Honest now tells me that their son, Kip, has been working on the cabinets while his dad has been out of commission. What? Do I really want my cupboards constructed by the equivalent of an apprentice, and especially an apprentice named Kip?
Maybe he's a fabulous woodworker; I just don't know. But I don't want to cancel the job, merely on the chance that Kip doesn't work up to his dad's standards. What's a General Contractor to do -- especially knowing that The Honest Family is worried about all the lost income from dad's time in the hospital, not to mention the medical bills? But we can't wait forever. We need the cabinets within a few weeks' time.
I said I'd check back in a couple of days to see if Mr. Honest's recovery remains on the upswing. If it's going to take him a long time to mend, I may have to bail. But what about Kip's Kupboards? Am I obligated to pay for them? Should I look at them first and then decide?
I swear, nothing has been easy with this renovation, not even getting silly cabinets made.
On a less soap operatic note, I had two drywall contractors come by this afternoon. Before looking at our patchwork ceilings, the first guy saw a chair in the corner and immediately offered to buy it. Now, this chair is a hand-me-down from Mr. Hubby's mom. It's of Scandinavian design, and apparently, this contractor is bonkers about that kind of furniture. I've never been a big fan of the chair, mostly because it squeaks really loudly when you sit in it. This guy was crazy about the squeak -- means the chair is the real-deal.
He offered $400 for it and after taking measurements for the job bid, went to the bank to get cold hard cash. While he was gone, a little light bulb went off in my head. He said that he was looking at three weeks out for the drywall work, but when he returned with the moola, I said I'd refund $100 on the chair if he could book us for the last week in May, one and a half weeks away. He seemed kind of in a chair trance by then, so he agreed to it without much thought.
The other contractor was very nice, but he didn't see any furniture he wanted, so he stuck with his ''three weeks out'' availability.
I'm supposed to get their official bids by the end of Thursday. All things being equal, I hope the chair guy's bid comes in lower. Someone that crazy would be an interesting addition to the contractor team.
A Blog Is Worth a Thousand Hits
Just a quick thank-you to everyone who has visited this blog, including potential identify thieves around the world. Yesterday, I reached a thousand visits to the site!
A special thanks to those who keep returning to see the next predicament we'll face.
It means so much to me!!
A special thanks to those who keep returning to see the next predicament we'll face.
It means so much to me!!
Monday, May 13, 2013
My Kingdom For a Drywall Hanger
Despite my concern for Mr. Honest and his health, I have to keep moving on this renovation, or we'll be celebrating Christmas with chestnuts and figgy pudding from the microwave.
Next on the list: drywall contractor. Tall Drink of Water and Polar Pop recommended a guy whom they call the Drywall Guru. He's apparently a temperamental artist with his medium being sheetrock. He's been known to walk off the job if things aren't just right, and he held a grudge again Polar Pop for months because PP's work was wasn't up to Drywall Guru's exacting standards.
But patching is his forte, so he seemed to be the perfect guy for the job. Unfortunately, like all creative geniuses, he doesn't live in the real world and obviously finds phones to be a major hindrance to his art. I left two messages over three days, neither of which he returned. If only I had his home address ...
TDW and PP told me that there's only one person who can consistently reach DG in his unearthly realm, and I just so happen to be friends with his wife. So I asked the husband to call The DaVinci of Drywall to see if he was taking new jobs.
I still heard nothing. But finally on Saturday, he called back. I was expecting an ethereal voice from beyond, but he was actually a nice, normal-sounding guy. And like all geniuses in their field, he's in very high demand and isn't taking new jobs.
So I hit the ground running this morning and called four contractors from Angie's List. One doesn't ''do'' drywall anymore, two haven't returned my phone call but one actually made an appointment with me for tomorrow. He sounded nice over the phone; let's just hope he's not booked for the foreseeable future once he sees our Swiss cheese ceiling -- there are now holes in the kitchen, living room and dining room drywall.
I also forced myself to find out about cabinet options (Mr. Honest is still in critical care; they're now suspecting cancer since they haven't been able to pinpoint a heart defect). I went to Lowe's, and a nice guy helped me put pricing to my cupboard dreams. Turns out Mr. Honest was giving me one heck of a deal -- just one more reason he's a great guy. I'm going to see another cabinet maker tomorrow, but I'm sure the cost will be more than Lowe's.
Wish me luck with my drywall meeting tomorrow. I need some forward movement -- we've got three weeks before moving. I'm getting scared.
Next on the list: drywall contractor. Tall Drink of Water and Polar Pop recommended a guy whom they call the Drywall Guru. He's apparently a temperamental artist with his medium being sheetrock. He's been known to walk off the job if things aren't just right, and he held a grudge again Polar Pop for months because PP's work was wasn't up to Drywall Guru's exacting standards.
But patching is his forte, so he seemed to be the perfect guy for the job. Unfortunately, like all creative geniuses, he doesn't live in the real world and obviously finds phones to be a major hindrance to his art. I left two messages over three days, neither of which he returned. If only I had his home address ...
TDW and PP told me that there's only one person who can consistently reach DG in his unearthly realm, and I just so happen to be friends with his wife. So I asked the husband to call The DaVinci of Drywall to see if he was taking new jobs.
I still heard nothing. But finally on Saturday, he called back. I was expecting an ethereal voice from beyond, but he was actually a nice, normal-sounding guy. And like all geniuses in their field, he's in very high demand and isn't taking new jobs.
So I hit the ground running this morning and called four contractors from Angie's List. One doesn't ''do'' drywall anymore, two haven't returned my phone call but one actually made an appointment with me for tomorrow. He sounded nice over the phone; let's just hope he's not booked for the foreseeable future once he sees our Swiss cheese ceiling -- there are now holes in the kitchen, living room and dining room drywall.
I also forced myself to find out about cabinet options (Mr. Honest is still in critical care; they're now suspecting cancer since they haven't been able to pinpoint a heart defect). I went to Lowe's, and a nice guy helped me put pricing to my cupboard dreams. Turns out Mr. Honest was giving me one heck of a deal -- just one more reason he's a great guy. I'm going to see another cabinet maker tomorrow, but I'm sure the cost will be more than Lowe's.
Wish me luck with my drywall meeting tomorrow. I need some forward movement -- we've got three weeks before moving. I'm getting scared.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
The Best of Times, The Worst of Times ...
THE WALLS ARE DOWN!!! THE WALLS ARE DOWN!!
It's true! It's true! I was beginning to think the day of open concept living would never come, but it did, and I could not stop smiling all day Friday. In fact, I exhausted myself with so much happy dancing that I was too pooped to write the blog post to announce it. It's just so great to see that the kitchen, living room and dining room are one big space, support beam notwithstanding.
Woke up Saturday morning feeling very motivated. There was actual progress that I could SEE, not just the design images that usually float around my head but cannot possibly be explained to Mr. Hubby or any other sane person, for that matter.
But then the phone rang. It was Mr. Honest's wife (he's our cabinet maker and handyman without equal). Mrs. Honest informed me that MH is in intensive care in The Big City. He was admitted to the local hospital with heart attack-like symptoms but transferred to a bigger facility due to the seriousness of his problems.
It just breaks my heart. MH is one of the nicest people I have ever met in my whole life. I don't think he would cheat you out of a dollar if you TOLD him it was okay to take. I just hope God isn't thinking he could use another really great guy in heaven right now because I think this earth needs him, whether he make cabinets for me or not.
So it will be with a heavy heart that I go cabinet shopping tomorrow in case Mr. Honest cannot make our cupboards. I'm going to start with another customer builder because Mr. Honest's custom work would have allowed me to have an island and pantry that do not conform to stock sizes. But I may end up at Lowe's if the price is too high.
And if you believe in the power of prayer, could you add Mr. Honest to your list? I know you don't know him, but you'd sure like him if you did ....
Here are some pics with the walls down. There's also a blurry pic of Tall Drink of Water and Polar Pop on their last day of work -- I think my hysteria was making my hands shake.
It's true! It's true! I was beginning to think the day of open concept living would never come, but it did, and I could not stop smiling all day Friday. In fact, I exhausted myself with so much happy dancing that I was too pooped to write the blog post to announce it. It's just so great to see that the kitchen, living room and dining room are one big space, support beam notwithstanding.
Woke up Saturday morning feeling very motivated. There was actual progress that I could SEE, not just the design images that usually float around my head but cannot possibly be explained to Mr. Hubby or any other sane person, for that matter.
But then the phone rang. It was Mr. Honest's wife (he's our cabinet maker and handyman without equal). Mrs. Honest informed me that MH is in intensive care in The Big City. He was admitted to the local hospital with heart attack-like symptoms but transferred to a bigger facility due to the seriousness of his problems.
It just breaks my heart. MH is one of the nicest people I have ever met in my whole life. I don't think he would cheat you out of a dollar if you TOLD him it was okay to take. I just hope God isn't thinking he could use another really great guy in heaven right now because I think this earth needs him, whether he make cabinets for me or not.
So it will be with a heavy heart that I go cabinet shopping tomorrow in case Mr. Honest cannot make our cupboards. I'm going to start with another customer builder because Mr. Honest's custom work would have allowed me to have an island and pantry that do not conform to stock sizes. But I may end up at Lowe's if the price is too high.
And if you believe in the power of prayer, could you add Mr. Honest to your list? I know you don't know him, but you'd sure like him if you did ....
Here are some pics with the walls down. There's also a blurry pic of Tall Drink of Water and Polar Pop on their last day of work -- I think my hysteria was making my hands shake.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
The Meeting
Let's see. Where did I leave off yesterday? Oh yes, Mr. Swift, structural engineer and comedic genius, agreed to meet with Tall Drink of Water and me to translate his scribbles into usable instructions.
TDW, whom I'm liking more everyday, shows me his concerns in person (after talking on the phone). Basically, he's worried that the whole dang structure is not supported enough by Swifty's ideas. And the steel beam required by the specs is actually nine inches too long, due to the eave of the house coming down at an angle. TDW laughed at my idea of poking the steel through the eave and having it act as a hanging plant holder on the outside (I actually suggested this; I'm desperate to get these walls down).
Then on the other end, TDW fears there's not enough support to hold up the steel (or I guess the entire second floor, for that matter). He says there's no ''bearing point'' in the basement (translation: there's no post in the basement directly under where the end of the steel sits on a 2x4).
Swift then arrives, looking older and more senile than I remembered from our first encounter. He spends the first few minutes just looking around, as though he is trying to remember where he is and what exactly he does for a living.
When speech finally comes, he basically repeats what TDW is saying: "'steel too long'', ''no bearing point'' ... like some sort of weird construction mantra. He then starts to look kind of embarrassed, afraid we're realizing that he was totally drunk when he drew up the specs.
He tells TDW it's OK to cut part of the steel to fit the eave's shape. Problem #1 solved. We then all head to the basement to check out the lack of support down below. SwiftMan suggests inserting giant pieces of steel below the floor joists. When that idea goes over like a lead balloon with TDW, the Swifter suggests putting braces directly below the 2x4 bearing all the weight. TDW is more open to this idea.
Then I, candidate for 2013 Contractor Rookie of the Year, suggest just putting a post in the basement to support the weight, but this time not having to dig out a giant hole in the floor. Mr. Swift says that could actually work since the point will only be bearing about a quarter of the total weight. Problem #2 solved, and I was part of the solution!
So TDW now has all the information he needs, although I'm not sure he thinks Mr. Laugh-In is being thorough enough. But at this stage, I just want it to be done. I'll deal with the imploding second floor at a later date. Or in other words, I'll cross that sinkhole when I'm engulfed by it.
So now, I say with my best Reagan-like voice, ''Mr. Tall Drink of Water, Take Down Those Walls!''
TDW, whom I'm liking more everyday, shows me his concerns in person (after talking on the phone). Basically, he's worried that the whole dang structure is not supported enough by Swifty's ideas. And the steel beam required by the specs is actually nine inches too long, due to the eave of the house coming down at an angle. TDW laughed at my idea of poking the steel through the eave and having it act as a hanging plant holder on the outside (I actually suggested this; I'm desperate to get these walls down).
Then on the other end, TDW fears there's not enough support to hold up the steel (or I guess the entire second floor, for that matter). He says there's no ''bearing point'' in the basement (translation: there's no post in the basement directly under where the end of the steel sits on a 2x4).
Swift then arrives, looking older and more senile than I remembered from our first encounter. He spends the first few minutes just looking around, as though he is trying to remember where he is and what exactly he does for a living.
When speech finally comes, he basically repeats what TDW is saying: "'steel too long'', ''no bearing point'' ... like some sort of weird construction mantra. He then starts to look kind of embarrassed, afraid we're realizing that he was totally drunk when he drew up the specs.
He tells TDW it's OK to cut part of the steel to fit the eave's shape. Problem #1 solved. We then all head to the basement to check out the lack of support down below. SwiftMan suggests inserting giant pieces of steel below the floor joists. When that idea goes over like a lead balloon with TDW, the Swifter suggests putting braces directly below the 2x4 bearing all the weight. TDW is more open to this idea.
Then I, candidate for 2013 Contractor Rookie of the Year, suggest just putting a post in the basement to support the weight, but this time not having to dig out a giant hole in the floor. Mr. Swift says that could actually work since the point will only be bearing about a quarter of the total weight. Problem #2 solved, and I was part of the solution!
So TDW now has all the information he needs, although I'm not sure he thinks Mr. Laugh-In is being thorough enough. But at this stage, I just want it to be done. I'll deal with the imploding second floor at a later date. Or in other words, I'll cross that sinkhole when I'm engulfed by it.
So now, I say with my best Reagan-like voice, ''Mr. Tall Drink of Water, Take Down Those Walls!''
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
My Inner Pitbull ...
Way back in March, I had a structural engineer, the stoic Mr. Swift, draw up plans to take down our load-bearing walls.
At the time, I thought they looked like hieroglyphics, which I blamed on my total lack of construction knowledge. Turns out I am not alone in my inability to read his doodles because our contractor, Tall Drink of Water, has so many questions, he won't move ahead until he gets clarification.
TDW has been leaving messages for He-Who-Will-Not-Laugh to no avail. That's where I enter the picture. Part of my personality, which I usually keep hidden, is my ability to grab onto something like a pitbull chomping down on a choice bone and not let go until I get what I want.
So I begin the hunt: leave a voicemail ... no response; send an email ... no response. I step it up a notch. He has an address listed on his business card, which may or may not be his home office. I don't care. I'm showing up on his doorstep, bathrobe or no bathrobe.
After driving around the part of town that in the old days would have been described as the wrong side of the tracks, I find a half-hidden office building that looks like it hasn't been updated since the Eisenhower administration. It's dark and dingy -- brown, stained carpet with lights as low as a strip club's (so I hear from Mr. Hubby).
It's completely empty, except for two Pentecostal women sewing jean skirts. They are aware of Mr. Swift and his non-existent sense of humor and confirm that his office is indeed located in the building.
So I continue my journey to the dark side and eventually find #5, Mr. Swift's center of power. The only thing I see is a business card taped to the door, with an address in an entirely different city -- not sure what that's all about. I knock and swear a chair squeaks inside, but no one answers. I literally put my ear against the door and still think I hear something, but that door ain't openin'.
I go back to the Pentecostal women and borrow a flower pen to write a curt note. Within two hours, Mr. Swift calls me, probably terrified that I will continue to penetrate his fortress of solitude until we talk.
He agrees to meet TDW and me at the house, a pow-wow that occurred this morning. Stay tuned for details tomorrow ...
At the time, I thought they looked like hieroglyphics, which I blamed on my total lack of construction knowledge. Turns out I am not alone in my inability to read his doodles because our contractor, Tall Drink of Water, has so many questions, he won't move ahead until he gets clarification.
TDW has been leaving messages for He-Who-Will-Not-Laugh to no avail. That's where I enter the picture. Part of my personality, which I usually keep hidden, is my ability to grab onto something like a pitbull chomping down on a choice bone and not let go until I get what I want.
So I begin the hunt: leave a voicemail ... no response; send an email ... no response. I step it up a notch. He has an address listed on his business card, which may or may not be his home office. I don't care. I'm showing up on his doorstep, bathrobe or no bathrobe.
After driving around the part of town that in the old days would have been described as the wrong side of the tracks, I find a half-hidden office building that looks like it hasn't been updated since the Eisenhower administration. It's dark and dingy -- brown, stained carpet with lights as low as a strip club's (so I hear from Mr. Hubby).
It's completely empty, except for two Pentecostal women sewing jean skirts. They are aware of Mr. Swift and his non-existent sense of humor and confirm that his office is indeed located in the building.
So I continue my journey to the dark side and eventually find #5, Mr. Swift's center of power. The only thing I see is a business card taped to the door, with an address in an entirely different city -- not sure what that's all about. I knock and swear a chair squeaks inside, but no one answers. I literally put my ear against the door and still think I hear something, but that door ain't openin'.
I go back to the Pentecostal women and borrow a flower pen to write a curt note. Within two hours, Mr. Swift calls me, probably terrified that I will continue to penetrate his fortress of solitude until we talk.
He agrees to meet TDW and me at the house, a pow-wow that occurred this morning. Stay tuned for details tomorrow ...
Monday, May 6, 2013
I Can't Make This Stuff Up!
Regular readers might remember that last night's post included a wish to the universe (I'm not arrogant enough to think that God has time to answer prayers on house renovation). I simply wanted Tall Drink of Water, our AWOL contractor, to show up healthy and well-fed this morning -- ready for a day of wall removal.
Well, about 8:00 a.m. the phone rings. Guess who? TDW, and he's sick. I'm totally serious. He woke up last night with chills and body aches. I would have laughed hysterically if the tears hadn't been blocking my throat. Some of you may be thinking that I'm creating fodder to make this lame blog a bit more exciting. But, alas, this is my real life and my real renovation.
After TDW's health status update, I spoke to Mr. Honest, the handyman/cabinet maker, to see how our cupboards are coming along. Turns out he hasn't even started them because of stomach problems, insomnia and panic attacks. Am I a contractor jinx? Accept a job from me, and you're doomed to uncontrollable pain and agony? Mr. Honest spent a recent day in the emergency room -- ALL day -- only to be told they can't figure out what's wrong.
I thought the day had pretty much peaked in suckiness until TDW called me mid-morning from the house sounding like death warmed over. I immediately became his mother and lectured him about taking care of himself now so that this illness doesn't turn into something major.
He said he'd take it easy and only work part of the day, and oh, by the way, part of the electrical rough-in is in the way of our future steel beam's home and needs to be removed toot-quick. Now, the only reason I had the electrical work done in the first place is because TDW was taking so long to start. My plan was to hire the electricians AFTER the walls were removed, but that wasn't happening, so I needed some forward moment. Now it's come back to bite me on my dust-covered posterior.
So after a desperate call to the electricians, Smoke and Mirrors will be over tomorrow at 7:30 a.m. to get their annoying wires out of the way. Hope that's not going to break the budget. I kind of think TDW should pay, since it's his procrastination that's caused this unforeseen cost. But I doubt he'll see the righteousness of that argument.
Tomorrow I'm half expecting a phone call from TDW and Mr. Honest, telling me they're now hospital roommates and will be out of commission for the foreseeable future. Don't laugh. At this point, it doesn't really seem that far-fetched ...
Well, about 8:00 a.m. the phone rings. Guess who? TDW, and he's sick. I'm totally serious. He woke up last night with chills and body aches. I would have laughed hysterically if the tears hadn't been blocking my throat. Some of you may be thinking that I'm creating fodder to make this lame blog a bit more exciting. But, alas, this is my real life and my real renovation.
After TDW's health status update, I spoke to Mr. Honest, the handyman/cabinet maker, to see how our cupboards are coming along. Turns out he hasn't even started them because of stomach problems, insomnia and panic attacks. Am I a contractor jinx? Accept a job from me, and you're doomed to uncontrollable pain and agony? Mr. Honest spent a recent day in the emergency room -- ALL day -- only to be told they can't figure out what's wrong.
I thought the day had pretty much peaked in suckiness until TDW called me mid-morning from the house sounding like death warmed over. I immediately became his mother and lectured him about taking care of himself now so that this illness doesn't turn into something major.
He said he'd take it easy and only work part of the day, and oh, by the way, part of the electrical rough-in is in the way of our future steel beam's home and needs to be removed toot-quick. Now, the only reason I had the electrical work done in the first place is because TDW was taking so long to start. My plan was to hire the electricians AFTER the walls were removed, but that wasn't happening, so I needed some forward moment. Now it's come back to bite me on my dust-covered posterior.
So after a desperate call to the electricians, Smoke and Mirrors will be over tomorrow at 7:30 a.m. to get their annoying wires out of the way. Hope that's not going to break the budget. I kind of think TDW should pay, since it's his procrastination that's caused this unforeseen cost. But I doubt he'll see the righteousness of that argument.
Tomorrow I'm half expecting a phone call from TDW and Mr. Honest, telling me they're now hospital roommates and will be out of commission for the foreseeable future. Don't laugh. At this point, it doesn't really seem that far-fetched ...
Sunday, May 5, 2013
All Hail, Wagner Power Steamer
The weekend started a little differently than we had planned, but happily. Mr. Hubby's second cousin (or is it first cousin once removed or maybe cousin lite?) graduated from a local university, and his family invited us to celebrate with a champagne lunch. Never ones to pass up free booze, we graciously accepted.
So instead of sharpening our handyperson skills, we enjoyed fine food, fine company, and an all-around good time. Sure, we're even more behind now -- with the gotta-be-out-of-the-current-house-by-June-6 clock ticking more loudly than ever. But I don't want to get so tunnel-visioned that we're not living beyond house renovation duties.
So we needed to be doubly productive today. After running to the grocery store with LevelHead Jr. and throwing random foodstuffs in the cart, we were off to join Mr. Hubby at the house.
The Hubman bought a wallpaper steamer on his way. It wasn't love at first sight for me, but when I saw that baby in action, I fell deep and hard. I'm thinking of leaving Mr. Hubby and spending the rest of my days with my Hot & Steamy. Once you are able to remove the top layer of wallpaper, the bottom layer falls off likes snow from the heavens.
The steamer we had rented a few weeks ago wasn't half as good as H&S. The rental has left us with such pock-marked walls, we're thinking of sending them to a dermatologist. Today was also about trying to repair those imperfections. I'm working on my skim coating skills wall by wall (skim coating is spreading a thin layer of joint compound to fill in the little holes and gouges left by said steamer). By the second wall, I kind of got a rhythm going.
Mr. Hubby said he'll give me the nickname of Skim Coat in my obituary. I take that as quite a compliment.
On a different subject, I need your positive vibes coming our way tonight. Tall Drink of Water and Polar Pop are supposed to be at the house at 9:00 a.m. to start the process of taking down our load-bearing walls. PLEASE let TDW remain healthy tonight -- allow him to get a good night's sleep, eat a nutritious breakfast and arrive on time, eager to haul around unbelievably heavy pieces of steel.
It would do so much for our momentum if we can actually get those walls down. But as I have learned pretty quickly in this endeavor, contractors answer to no one but their skilled hands and break-taking attitudes.
Hope to have good news to report tomorrow ...
1) Our pock-marked walls with applied acne medicine; 2) a giant panel of wallpaper that LevelHead, Jr. was able to pull off, thanks to Hot & Steamy.
So instead of sharpening our handyperson skills, we enjoyed fine food, fine company, and an all-around good time. Sure, we're even more behind now -- with the gotta-be-out-of-the-current-house-by-June-6 clock ticking more loudly than ever. But I don't want to get so tunnel-visioned that we're not living beyond house renovation duties.
So we needed to be doubly productive today. After running to the grocery store with LevelHead Jr. and throwing random foodstuffs in the cart, we were off to join Mr. Hubby at the house.
The Hubman bought a wallpaper steamer on his way. It wasn't love at first sight for me, but when I saw that baby in action, I fell deep and hard. I'm thinking of leaving Mr. Hubby and spending the rest of my days with my Hot & Steamy. Once you are able to remove the top layer of wallpaper, the bottom layer falls off likes snow from the heavens.
The steamer we had rented a few weeks ago wasn't half as good as H&S. The rental has left us with such pock-marked walls, we're thinking of sending them to a dermatologist. Today was also about trying to repair those imperfections. I'm working on my skim coating skills wall by wall (skim coating is spreading a thin layer of joint compound to fill in the little holes and gouges left by said steamer). By the second wall, I kind of got a rhythm going.
Mr. Hubby said he'll give me the nickname of Skim Coat in my obituary. I take that as quite a compliment.
On a different subject, I need your positive vibes coming our way tonight. Tall Drink of Water and Polar Pop are supposed to be at the house at 9:00 a.m. to start the process of taking down our load-bearing walls. PLEASE let TDW remain healthy tonight -- allow him to get a good night's sleep, eat a nutritious breakfast and arrive on time, eager to haul around unbelievably heavy pieces of steel.
It would do so much for our momentum if we can actually get those walls down. But as I have learned pretty quickly in this endeavor, contractors answer to no one but their skilled hands and break-taking attitudes.
Hope to have good news to report tomorrow ...
1) Our pock-marked walls with applied acne medicine; 2) a giant panel of wallpaper that LevelHead, Jr. was able to pull off, thanks to Hot & Steamy.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Let's Pause For a Moment
In the midst of our remodeling debris, both literally and figuratively, it's easy to get wrapped up in day-to-day construction minutia and forget what really matters.
So please indulge me in a little reflection. It was one year ago tomorrow that I missed work because of intense pain in my abdomen. By Sunday, even though the pain had subsided substantially, I knew that something was seriously wrong. Being a total cheapskate, I didn't want to go to the emergency room, so we headed to our neighborhood quick care. And that is when Health Saga 2012 began.
After an ambulance ride to the hospital, CT scan and ultrasound, I was told by an ER physician that I had ovarian cancer. This was confirmed by the gynecologist we saw the following Monday, at which time we were referred to an oncologist in The Big City.
After two months of thinking I had cancer, as we awaited surgery with the world's busiest oncologist, my prayers were answered when we found out I didn't have cancer but a Low Malignancy Potential -- a small chance of becoming malignant. But I had so much yanked out of me while under the knife, I don't think there's anything left to which the bad cells can attach.
Anyway, post-surgery I have tried to embrace life more fully and be more adventurous. First, I quit a job that wasn't feeding my passion. Next, I started working at LevelHead Jr's school. It fills my heart, if not my wallet.
And buying this house is also part of post-cancer-scare life. I've always wanted to renovate a house, so why not? If it's a great big money pit, I'll spend the rest of my days repaying Mr. Hubby both financially and emotionally. Lucky for me, I found a house in a neighborhood that's always been the Hubster's favorite, so it didn't take too much convincing. So it's a gamble I'm willing to take.
And despite the setbacks and unforeseen costs, I have been loving every minute of it. Yesterday I was in Lowe's trying to find range hood specs for the electrician while simultaneously taking a call from Tall Drink of Water -- I could not have been happier. I must have looked like a lunatic walking around the big box store with a smile on my face.
Mr. Hubby says my face lights up when I talk about the trials and tribulations of construction life. And it's true. I would love to find a way to do this for a living, but I know that's a stretch. So many factors come into play -- the economy, our local real estate market and our personal finances -- not to mention my total lack of experience.
But I'm trying to live in the moment (another benefit of the cancer scare). And at this minute, I'm pretty pleased with life, no matter what job I hold tomorrow.
Now back to our regular programming ...
So please indulge me in a little reflection. It was one year ago tomorrow that I missed work because of intense pain in my abdomen. By Sunday, even though the pain had subsided substantially, I knew that something was seriously wrong. Being a total cheapskate, I didn't want to go to the emergency room, so we headed to our neighborhood quick care. And that is when Health Saga 2012 began.
After an ambulance ride to the hospital, CT scan and ultrasound, I was told by an ER physician that I had ovarian cancer. This was confirmed by the gynecologist we saw the following Monday, at which time we were referred to an oncologist in The Big City.
After two months of thinking I had cancer, as we awaited surgery with the world's busiest oncologist, my prayers were answered when we found out I didn't have cancer but a Low Malignancy Potential -- a small chance of becoming malignant. But I had so much yanked out of me while under the knife, I don't think there's anything left to which the bad cells can attach.
Anyway, post-surgery I have tried to embrace life more fully and be more adventurous. First, I quit a job that wasn't feeding my passion. Next, I started working at LevelHead Jr's school. It fills my heart, if not my wallet.
And buying this house is also part of post-cancer-scare life. I've always wanted to renovate a house, so why not? If it's a great big money pit, I'll spend the rest of my days repaying Mr. Hubby both financially and emotionally. Lucky for me, I found a house in a neighborhood that's always been the Hubster's favorite, so it didn't take too much convincing. So it's a gamble I'm willing to take.
And despite the setbacks and unforeseen costs, I have been loving every minute of it. Yesterday I was in Lowe's trying to find range hood specs for the electrician while simultaneously taking a call from Tall Drink of Water -- I could not have been happier. I must have looked like a lunatic walking around the big box store with a smile on my face.
Mr. Hubby says my face lights up when I talk about the trials and tribulations of construction life. And it's true. I would love to find a way to do this for a living, but I know that's a stretch. So many factors come into play -- the economy, our local real estate market and our personal finances -- not to mention my total lack of experience.
But I'm trying to live in the moment (another benefit of the cancer scare). And at this minute, I'm pretty pleased with life, no matter what job I hold tomorrow.
Now back to our regular programming ...
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
It's All Smoke and Mirrors
Sorry for the lack of post yesterday. I spent the better part of the day with my new buddies, the electricians.
One of my buds, the apprentice helper, has the nickname ''Smoke''. I asked with fingers crossed if the nickname is due to his two-pack a day habit or his ability to cause fiery fumes at every job site. Lucky for me -- not so much for Smoke -- he's got a limited life expectancy due to his love of cigarettes. So of course, the lead electrician must hereby be deemed "Mirrors''.
On my morning drive to the house, my jaded self kept saying that something was going to go wrong and that they wouldn't complete the job as scheduled. And my universe, which is currently ruled by misguided contractors, did not dissapoint.
It all started out well enough. Smoke and Mirrors are both cordial fellows and seemed ready for a day of wiring and circuits. They worked diligently for about an house until one of them mentioned the magic word that can halt an ongoing job faster than loose women on a Saturday night: ''break''. I guess 60 minutes of activity is rewarded with a quarter hour's rest and nicotine, according to union regs.
They eventually got back on task and were working efficiently when I had to leave for work. They confirmed that they would still be at the house when I stopped by post-kindergarteners. But when I opened the door, I didn't hear any Garth Brooks or Led Zeppelin, so I knew trouble was brewing. I figured S&M (their initials, gentle readers) were at lunch, so I scraped some wallpaper, tried to remove tile, sanded joint compoud, all my usual time killers. Still no Smoke and no Mirrors. I was about to leave when the front door opened, and Mirrors began apologizing for their tardiness. Not good, I thought. When's the last time a contractor apologized for being late?
Smoke then told me how their quick trip to McDonald's turned into a major ordeal when the truck wouldn't start after their Filet 'O Fish happy meals. So they had to have someone try to jump their truck (didn't work), then have it towed back to the shop.
At this point, I imagined their boss, shop owner Rug Man, turning into Mr. Crab from Sponge Bob. He must have seen dollar bills flying out the door at the thought of a qualified mechanic, so he called Smoke and Mirrors back to the shop to replace the truck starter. And as we all know, no one refuses Mr. Crab.
I didn't fight their departure too much since no other contractor was scheduled for today, plus we're paying by the job, not the hour. So S&M earning their mechanic badges wasn't really a deal-breaker for me.
And they were back today, which I'll tell you about tomorrow ... quite a cliffhanger, I know.
Here they are: Smoke and Mirrors (well, actually, Mirrors and Smoke).
One of my buds, the apprentice helper, has the nickname ''Smoke''. I asked with fingers crossed if the nickname is due to his two-pack a day habit or his ability to cause fiery fumes at every job site. Lucky for me -- not so much for Smoke -- he's got a limited life expectancy due to his love of cigarettes. So of course, the lead electrician must hereby be deemed "Mirrors''.
On my morning drive to the house, my jaded self kept saying that something was going to go wrong and that they wouldn't complete the job as scheduled. And my universe, which is currently ruled by misguided contractors, did not dissapoint.
It all started out well enough. Smoke and Mirrors are both cordial fellows and seemed ready for a day of wiring and circuits. They worked diligently for about an house until one of them mentioned the magic word that can halt an ongoing job faster than loose women on a Saturday night: ''break''. I guess 60 minutes of activity is rewarded with a quarter hour's rest and nicotine, according to union regs.
They eventually got back on task and were working efficiently when I had to leave for work. They confirmed that they would still be at the house when I stopped by post-kindergarteners. But when I opened the door, I didn't hear any Garth Brooks or Led Zeppelin, so I knew trouble was brewing. I figured S&M (their initials, gentle readers) were at lunch, so I scraped some wallpaper, tried to remove tile, sanded joint compoud, all my usual time killers. Still no Smoke and no Mirrors. I was about to leave when the front door opened, and Mirrors began apologizing for their tardiness. Not good, I thought. When's the last time a contractor apologized for being late?
Smoke then told me how their quick trip to McDonald's turned into a major ordeal when the truck wouldn't start after their Filet 'O Fish happy meals. So they had to have someone try to jump their truck (didn't work), then have it towed back to the shop.
At this point, I imagined their boss, shop owner Rug Man, turning into Mr. Crab from Sponge Bob. He must have seen dollar bills flying out the door at the thought of a qualified mechanic, so he called Smoke and Mirrors back to the shop to replace the truck starter. And as we all know, no one refuses Mr. Crab.
I didn't fight their departure too much since no other contractor was scheduled for today, plus we're paying by the job, not the hour. So S&M earning their mechanic badges wasn't really a deal-breaker for me.
And they were back today, which I'll tell you about tomorrow ... quite a cliffhanger, I know.
Here they are: Smoke and Mirrors (well, actually, Mirrors and Smoke).
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