Oh. Hi. I'm sorry. I'm just a little busy over here, lying on the ground, making kissy faces to my new floors.
No, I'm not actually kissing my new floors. That would be weird. Also I could smudge them.
Jesus Christ, take your damn shoes off! These floors are not for walking on. My God. They are for admiring. From over there. A little further. One more step. Outside the door. Yes. Thanks.
Can you still hear me? I'll shout, if that helps.
So the floors are done. And there's not much else to say except that hey, the floors are done. I'm actually kind of shocked about it, since the guy we hired said they would be done in a week and lo, they were done in a week. And they cost exactly what he told us they would cost, which was suspiciously not very much at all. I'm actually more than kind of shocked about that. Every day I kept waiting for him to tell us he'd made a mistake, that the job couldn't be done for the price he quoted, or that his team couldn't work tomorrow like they thought, but how's our August look?
When we remodeled our kitchen and floors at our old place (while I was pregnant), we were told the whole thing would take about two weeks. Five months later (and still pregnant) I couldn't even write about what we were going through because it seemed very likely that we'd end up facing our contractor in court. Utterly delightful, and hey, did I mention I was pregnant?
Now the only challenge that remains is some painting. Scuffs and dings and things. The previous owners graciously left all the paint they used, but neglected to label any of the cans, and we've since discovered that every goddamn wall is actually painted a slightly different color.
If you just walk through the house, you'd swear that every single goddamn wall is a sort of yellowish beige. But they are not the same yellowish beige. But oh no, we have Bronzed Beige. We have Yosemite Sand. We have Powell Buff and Lancaster Whitewash and Putnam Ivory and some phantom shade of beige in the master bathroom that does not appear to be ANY of these shades of beige, and I am going to kill the master bathroom because I AM NOT REPAINTING THE MASTER BATHROOM ANOTHER SHADE OF BEIGE JUST BECAUSE OF ONE GODDAMN HOLE IN ONE GODDAMN BEIGE WALL.
(The previous owner actually attempted to patch the hole prior to our final walkthrough, and admitted that he'd used the wrong paint color. "I used Yosemite Sand," he said. "And now that I think about it, the bathroom walls are Barbados Sand." He looked and sounded like a man beaten down by his wife's love of the Benjamin Moore Palette of Barely Different Beiges, so I didn't ask if there was a can of Barbados Sand down in the basement.)
(There was not a can of Barbados Sand in the basement, and Barbados Sand does not appear to exist anymore, at least not under that name, and again, I am going to kill the master bathroom, or perhaps just start hanging really random towel racks all over the place.)
(Hey, it worked for the downstairs bathroom. Each one of these animals is covering some sort of Jason-inflicted wall damage, since we haven't been able to figure out this shade of green either.)
(I'm pretty sure it's Fernwood Green, since I brought every single greenish paint chip home after discovering a big ding in the wall under the toilet paper holder. It's time to stop hiding our laziness with woodland creatures and buy some damn paint, I think.)
Jason insisted I was crazy when I told him I suspected that the living room, dining room and foyer were actually three different paint colors. Like, he got angry with me. Like I was being difficult on purpose.
I hate being right all the time, I really do.
Wall-related melodrama aside, we're happy. The house looks like our house now. It feels like our house.
And I really don't mind yellowish beige.