Celebrating 20 Years
I'm writing this as my husband searches on his phone to find a shoe store. It's our 20th wedding anniversary, the kids are at sleep away camp, and we are hanging out in our basement, where we were unexpectedly relegated for the evening.
It's been the worst July 31 since 1999.
Let me start this story about two months ago, and as I tell it, please know that I am keenly aware that it demonstrates the epitome of first-world problems. I do not take our privilege for granted. However, when I'm spending my 20th anniversary night in my basement, eating salad and chips for dinner, it's a story I need to tell.
For quite some time, we have been discussing refinishing the wood floor in our kitchen, which was damaged before we moved in over a decade ago and has since taken a beating from twinlilfe. As with most decisions involving furniture and house decor, we kept putting it off.
My husband and I are not good at pulling the trigger on large household purchases. In fact, we were so frozen about replacing our living room couch and coffee table (which we had literally taken out of the trash at a rummage sale years ago) that we ultimately scrapped the idea and turned the room into a game and piano room. We like it.
This year, however, we knew we needed to replace the rugs in our children's rooms - again twinlife and builder-grade carpet don't mix well, and the rugs had taken a beating. We figured it was easier to research flooring in general and decided that this was the summer to do the kitchen floor.
About two months ago, I started the process with the intention of doing the wood floor work when my children were at sleep away camp. We knew that we were going to need to do most of the downstairs because the kitchen floor extends throughout, and we knew that this meant no furniture for a few days. We also figured it would impact our routines - simple things like being able to eat breakfast and dinner and, potentially, accessing bathrooms and our bedrooms - so we wanted to simplify what we could. Kids gone, less complications.
This week was the week. I had had several conversations with the flooring company, we had worked out the logistics, and we were ready to invite the craftsmen into our house at 7AM on Monday. Our furniture was safely stored in the garage, where I wouldn't need to cover them with sheets, or in the rooms that weren't being refinished, covered in sheets.
After evaluation by the company liaison, who sent pictures of our floors to the craftsman, we were told that our stain was "water-based," which was great news because it meant we would be able to walk on the floors in socks between coats. We only needed to give it four hours to dry. We planned accordingly. However, because of some miscommunication with the flooring company during the rug install, which we did a few weeks ago, I was slightly concerned that when the men arrived, we would be told that the stain was actually oil-based, and "You can't come back for four days."
My husband needs a plan, and when the plan goes south, he doesn't handle it well. (He would not make a good teacher, though he is a phenomenal coach and dad!). I prepped him Sunday night, telling him that he might want to brainstorm what he would need if we ended up having to pack quickly for four days in a hotel.
Like usual when I offer sage advice, he ignored me, and we watched Stranger Things.
The next morning we rose early, showered and dressed to be ready by 7AM. We stood in the kitchen (remember, no furniture) wondering whether things would go as planned. At about 7:45, the crew showed up. We showed the crew leader around, and then prepared to leave. As I was getting in my car, he came to us to say that he was worried that the stain might be oil-based, and that we couldn't get back into the house for four days.
I'm pretty sure I heard that sound of a record stopping in the musical of my life at that moment. My brain went to packing mode. My hubby's went to panic, which doesn't usually result in a calm conversation.
I flew up the stairs to start throwing clothes into a bag as the crew leader sanded and tested a spot in the kitchen. "It looks good!" he said. I agreed. The colors seemed to match. (If my dad is reading this, he is probably already yelling at the screen, knowing my mistake. Everyone else, keep reading to find out.)
Relieved, we headed off to work with the promise from our crew leader that we could walk on the floors around 8PM that night.
As is true of most home improvement projects, the crew took longer than expected, and we had to force our neighbors to hang out with us for a few hours while we literally waited for paint to dry. By the time we walked into the house around 9, we were so worried about potentially scuffing the stain that we didn't really look at the big picture.
Tuesday was supposed to be the final day - one coat in the morning and the final coat in the afternoon, meaning we could come back into the house later in the evening and the project would be complete. The timing was perfect because our house cleaner was scheduled to come on Wednesday. Though the dustless system and my meticulous covering of our furniture inside had limited the mess, unfortunately, the crew had left the laundry and garage doors open all day while they were sanding. All of the kitchen counter paraphernalia and furniture in those areas was COVERED in dust. I had planned to work from home on Wednesday and knew that she and I together could tackle the cleaning.
When the crew arrived Tuesday morning, they put this plan in limbo - maybe they would be back for the final coat, maybe not. You should probably read into the foreshadowing here so I can skip a few hours of this story...
I cancelled my cleaner and rescheduled for Thursday. We ate dinner at the bar in our finished basement. (Privilege acknowledged.)
So now it's Wednesday, today, my 20th anniversary. I had originally scheduled a fancy dinner at one of our favorite local restaurants, but given the craziness of life lately, I had cancelled that reservation. It's a good thing I did because there is no way we could have dressed for it.
We were a bit concerned about the color of the floor. We knew that it would not match the existing stains, including the rooms that had hardwood that we were not refinishing, perfectly (which it did before), but we were assured by the flooring company that it would be "close," and only people with a decorator's eye like my mom would notice. That was good enough for us, but the color that we were looking at was not even close. Though it really looked great, it was several shades too light.
Being laypeople, we wondered whether the final coat, which we assumed to be a polyurethane, would darken it substantially. Because my husband had to leave earlier than I did for work, it was my job to have the conversation with the crew leader.
About ten minutes before he arrived, I received an email from work that put me into a tailspin. (I've got a lot going on right now.) I wasn't in a great frame of mind, and quite frankly, I am not great at confronting people in person, especially when there is a language barrier, which there was.
In talking to the crew leader I was able to ascertain that the color was not going to change. Though I asked him if we had any other options - a different stain, polyurethane, anything - he shook his head no.
Already beaten down by the last few days both with this project and at work, I simply accepted it. It wasn't what we were promised, and we would need to deal with the company in order to finish the other floors so they would match. I left the house and called my husband to relay the message.
See above note about how he responds when things don't go well...
I was about 15 minutes from home when he called me back, saying I needed to turn around immediately and go back to the house. He had talked to the crew leader who offered him a solution - use an oil-based polyurethane.
See above note on what that means for access to the house... (and I kind of want to add that I had offered that solution and was told no, and I have my theories as to why that was).
During our conversation, while I quickly exited the highway and headed back to the house, my husband and I discussed what I needed to do - pack for us both - and that it was going to be my decision of whether we moved forward with this new plan. The crew leader was making a sample so I could see the color. (Anyone figuring out why I might be nervous about this? See above...)
I will not admit to any yelling or crying that may have occurred during this conversation.
I arrived home and the sample stain looked great. It matched, seemingly perfectly. This time I asked, "Will it dry much lighter than this?" He shook his head no. I didn't know whether we were communicating effectively, but I had to move forward. I gave the go-ahead to use the oil-based stain.
Then I ran upstairs to pack for both me and my husband. We both needed work clothes for the next day, but he was scheduled to meet with his boss and his new boss's boss and wanted a particular suit. Thank goodness for Facetime. I wish I could have watched myself Facetiming with him in his closet while I tried to gather the items he wanted.
We decide to sleep on the blow-up mattress in the basement (thankful to my parents for leaving one there), so I also needed sheets and blankets and pillows, and of course we needed to shower at a neighbor's house the next morning, so I needed, well, an entire day's worth of toiletries.
I quickly grabbed the fruit and veggies that had arrived in my weekly delivery of produce so that we would have something to eat. (This became dinner. My brother thinks the La Croix makes it fancy, especially because I added raspberries and Vodka to it. Yay basement bar!)
It's been the worst July 31 since 1999.
Let me start this story about two months ago, and as I tell it, please know that I am keenly aware that it demonstrates the epitome of first-world problems. I do not take our privilege for granted. However, when I'm spending my 20th anniversary night in my basement, eating salad and chips for dinner, it's a story I need to tell.
For quite some time, we have been discussing refinishing the wood floor in our kitchen, which was damaged before we moved in over a decade ago and has since taken a beating from twinlilfe. As with most decisions involving furniture and house decor, we kept putting it off.
My husband and I are not good at pulling the trigger on large household purchases. In fact, we were so frozen about replacing our living room couch and coffee table (which we had literally taken out of the trash at a rummage sale years ago) that we ultimately scrapped the idea and turned the room into a game and piano room. We like it.
This year, however, we knew we needed to replace the rugs in our children's rooms - again twinlife and builder-grade carpet don't mix well, and the rugs had taken a beating. We figured it was easier to research flooring in general and decided that this was the summer to do the kitchen floor.
About two months ago, I started the process with the intention of doing the wood floor work when my children were at sleep away camp. We knew that we were going to need to do most of the downstairs because the kitchen floor extends throughout, and we knew that this meant no furniture for a few days. We also figured it would impact our routines - simple things like being able to eat breakfast and dinner and, potentially, accessing bathrooms and our bedrooms - so we wanted to simplify what we could. Kids gone, less complications.
This week was the week. I had had several conversations with the flooring company, we had worked out the logistics, and we were ready to invite the craftsmen into our house at 7AM on Monday. Our furniture was safely stored in the garage, where I wouldn't need to cover them with sheets, or in the rooms that weren't being refinished, covered in sheets.
After evaluation by the company liaison, who sent pictures of our floors to the craftsman, we were told that our stain was "water-based," which was great news because it meant we would be able to walk on the floors in socks between coats. We only needed to give it four hours to dry. We planned accordingly. However, because of some miscommunication with the flooring company during the rug install, which we did a few weeks ago, I was slightly concerned that when the men arrived, we would be told that the stain was actually oil-based, and "You can't come back for four days."
My husband needs a plan, and when the plan goes south, he doesn't handle it well. (He would not make a good teacher, though he is a phenomenal coach and dad!). I prepped him Sunday night, telling him that he might want to brainstorm what he would need if we ended up having to pack quickly for four days in a hotel.
Like usual when I offer sage advice, he ignored me, and we watched Stranger Things.
The next morning we rose early, showered and dressed to be ready by 7AM. We stood in the kitchen (remember, no furniture) wondering whether things would go as planned. At about 7:45, the crew showed up. We showed the crew leader around, and then prepared to leave. As I was getting in my car, he came to us to say that he was worried that the stain might be oil-based, and that we couldn't get back into the house for four days.
I'm pretty sure I heard that sound of a record stopping in the musical of my life at that moment. My brain went to packing mode. My hubby's went to panic, which doesn't usually result in a calm conversation.
I flew up the stairs to start throwing clothes into a bag as the crew leader sanded and tested a spot in the kitchen. "It looks good!" he said. I agreed. The colors seemed to match. (If my dad is reading this, he is probably already yelling at the screen, knowing my mistake. Everyone else, keep reading to find out.)
Relieved, we headed off to work with the promise from our crew leader that we could walk on the floors around 8PM that night.
As is true of most home improvement projects, the crew took longer than expected, and we had to force our neighbors to hang out with us for a few hours while we literally waited for paint to dry. By the time we walked into the house around 9, we were so worried about potentially scuffing the stain that we didn't really look at the big picture.
Tuesday was supposed to be the final day - one coat in the morning and the final coat in the afternoon, meaning we could come back into the house later in the evening and the project would be complete. The timing was perfect because our house cleaner was scheduled to come on Wednesday. Though the dustless system and my meticulous covering of our furniture inside had limited the mess, unfortunately, the crew had left the laundry and garage doors open all day while they were sanding. All of the kitchen counter paraphernalia and furniture in those areas was COVERED in dust. I had planned to work from home on Wednesday and knew that she and I together could tackle the cleaning.
When the crew arrived Tuesday morning, they put this plan in limbo - maybe they would be back for the final coat, maybe not. You should probably read into the foreshadowing here so I can skip a few hours of this story...
I cancelled my cleaner and rescheduled for Thursday. We ate dinner at the bar in our finished basement. (Privilege acknowledged.)
So now it's Wednesday, today, my 20th anniversary. I had originally scheduled a fancy dinner at one of our favorite local restaurants, but given the craziness of life lately, I had cancelled that reservation. It's a good thing I did because there is no way we could have dressed for it.
We were a bit concerned about the color of the floor. We knew that it would not match the existing stains, including the rooms that had hardwood that we were not refinishing, perfectly (which it did before), but we were assured by the flooring company that it would be "close," and only people with a decorator's eye like my mom would notice. That was good enough for us, but the color that we were looking at was not even close. Though it really looked great, it was several shades too light.
Being laypeople, we wondered whether the final coat, which we assumed to be a polyurethane, would darken it substantially. Because my husband had to leave earlier than I did for work, it was my job to have the conversation with the crew leader.
About ten minutes before he arrived, I received an email from work that put me into a tailspin. (I've got a lot going on right now.) I wasn't in a great frame of mind, and quite frankly, I am not great at confronting people in person, especially when there is a language barrier, which there was.
In talking to the crew leader I was able to ascertain that the color was not going to change. Though I asked him if we had any other options - a different stain, polyurethane, anything - he shook his head no.
Already beaten down by the last few days both with this project and at work, I simply accepted it. It wasn't what we were promised, and we would need to deal with the company in order to finish the other floors so they would match. I left the house and called my husband to relay the message.
See above note about how he responds when things don't go well...
I was about 15 minutes from home when he called me back, saying I needed to turn around immediately and go back to the house. He had talked to the crew leader who offered him a solution - use an oil-based polyurethane.
See above note on what that means for access to the house... (and I kind of want to add that I had offered that solution and was told no, and I have my theories as to why that was).
During our conversation, while I quickly exited the highway and headed back to the house, my husband and I discussed what I needed to do - pack for us both - and that it was going to be my decision of whether we moved forward with this new plan. The crew leader was making a sample so I could see the color. (Anyone figuring out why I might be nervous about this? See above...)
I will not admit to any yelling or crying that may have occurred during this conversation.
I arrived home and the sample stain looked great. It matched, seemingly perfectly. This time I asked, "Will it dry much lighter than this?" He shook his head no. I didn't know whether we were communicating effectively, but I had to move forward. I gave the go-ahead to use the oil-based stain.
Then I ran upstairs to pack for both me and my husband. We both needed work clothes for the next day, but he was scheduled to meet with his boss and his new boss's boss and wanted a particular suit. Thank goodness for Facetime. I wish I could have watched myself Facetiming with him in his closet while I tried to gather the items he wanted.
We decide to sleep on the blow-up mattress in the basement (thankful to my parents for leaving one there), so I also needed sheets and blankets and pillows, and of course we needed to shower at a neighbor's house the next morning, so I needed, well, an entire day's worth of toiletries.
I quickly grabbed the fruit and veggies that had arrived in my weekly delivery of produce so that we would have something to eat. (This became dinner. My brother thinks the La Croix makes it fancy, especially because I added raspberries and Vodka to it. Yay basement bar!)
Before I left the house (again), I made sure to leave the basement door unlocked so that we had access. We were ready for the evening.
Most nights I arrive home before my husband, but tonight I decided to blow off some stress shopping at Target. I needed some items, and we also needed new rugs and furniture pads to protect these damn lovely new floors. As I pulled out of Target, hubby called to tell me he had just arrived home. My stomach lurched.
"Have you seen the floors?"
"No, I haven't gone in yet."
"Ok, I'll be home soon."
I was really, really hoping not to hear from him again. I was so worried that the stain would be drying lighter and that I had made another mistake. When the phone rang with his number again a short time later, I almost got sick.
"Where are you now?"
I could tell he was agitated.
"About ten minutes away."
"When you get home, I need to talk to you. Call me as you get here. It's important."
Pushing back the vomit, I said, "Can you just tell me what's going on so I can start to process it before I get there?" I asked.
He sighed angrily. "I stepped in some kind of animal shit, and it's all over my shoes, and I think I tracked it into the basement."
Though my first reaction should probably have been to laugh, I simply asked, "Was it the bear?" Our neighborhood bear has been adding some interesting details to this story that I didn't bother to write, but all I could imagine was the huge pile of poo my hubby had seen the bear drop in our yard on Monday night.
When I arrived home, he had done a good job calming himself and washing off the shoes. I took the lead on washing the basement floor where he had walked before wondering "what that smell" was.
We aren't sure what animal pooped right in front of our basement door, sufficiently hidden by the old, worn mat that my husband didn't see it. What my husband is sure of is that he is going to the shoe store tomorrow before his important meeting to buy a new pair of shoes. He thinks this pair needs to be burned. I told him that would make a great anniversary gift. He should put it on my credit card.
July 31 twenty years ago was a pretty stressful day, but all of my planning made it go smoothly. This year, all of our planning backfired, and this was the shittiest July 31 in 20 years. But at least we have a great story to tell the kids when they get home from camp!
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