It appears I've developed a reputation. What we've got planned probably isn't going to diminish that reputation much: gut our son's room, move a door, and install overhead lighting.
Before anyone mistakes me for Bob Vila, I'd like to make it clear that I'm simply a cheap, cynical, fiercely independent, middle-class homeowner with more tools than sense. I suppose that if I had more sense, my wife and I would save our pennies for that glorious day when we'd hire licensed contractors and pay them a hojillion bucks to come in and do a half-assed job because they're already so busy with bigger money full-house remodels and second-story additions. Did I mention "cynical"?
I don't embark on these house projects lightly. If I didn't feel like we were held hostage by my non-titanic salary, our hopes and expectations of what our living space can eventually become, and our desire for a slightly larger family, I would be spending all my free time doing anything but ripping down wallboard.
We do have another little one on the way. A week ago, we learned that we're having a daughter. Ultrasounds aren't 100% conclusive, but the tech and I felt we got a pretty good shot of prenatal girl bits. If we do have a son, we'll all just have to deal. In the meantime, no matter whether it's a girl or a boy, my wife has gone into a sort of mad nesting fugue.
We've shifted our son from the "baby" room to what used to be the computer room. Of course, the drab walls of the computer room are not befitting a child's room, at least not a loved child's room. At the bare minimum, we'd need to paint the walls.
The problem here is that "the bare minimum" is what our house has been subjected to over the years by a steady stream of moronic previous owners.
We would just paint the room, but with a little close observation, you can see the seams of wallpaper that have already been painted over. In the corner opposite my chair, the wall is scarred from an abortive attempt to remove the wallpaper. Once the folks got halfway down their first section of paper and realized how much work was involved, they just painted over everything, the bastards.
All this evidence of slovenly stupidity drives my wife and me absolutely nuts.
We'd like to remove the wallpaper, but after wallpaper is painted, it's nearly impossible to remove. We could somehow retexture the walls to bury the evidence even further, but this would just be following in the stumbling footsteps of our predecessors.
Because we need to install lighting and redo a lot of wiring in the room anyway, my wife and I have decided to just pull down and replace all the wallboard in the room.
While we're at it, we're going to fill in a double door to the room that opens out in to the living room. This stroke of architectural genius means that there is no wall to easily set a bed against and the room has very little privacy. Instead, we'll install a door down the hall a bit.
It all seems a bit audacious and ambitious, but taken one step at a time, it's not that bad.
Here's where a little insanity creeps in. Astute and faithful readers will note that I haven't yet posted a column of extreme jubilation celebrating the completion of our bathroom remodel/restoration. When that day comes, I'll have to find some way for a Flash object to reach out of the screen and give each and every one of you a handjob. Yes there will be that much joy to go around. Until that glorious day, you all will have to make do with self-stimulation or a willing second party, loving or otherwise.
No, the bathroom will have to languish a bit longer while we make ready the house for our daughter.
Luckily, Harlock and Family have graciously offered up their strength and talent on the altar of our house. In return, I will contribute my oomph and hard-won experience to their own house projects, making pronouncements of great authority like "Dude, you're right. You've got some sort of leak in this floor. That sucks big time."
In fact, Harlock has already spilled blood in the name of the cause, helping us wrestle together a fiendishly complex hunk of IKEA furniture. To keep any lungs being sacrificed, I've suggested that he bring a good particulate filter mask when we're pulling wallboard. Also, I'd like to keep further bloodletting to a minimum, but I can't very well keep him from wielding any power tools he brings himself. Besides, if bringing a reciprocating saw to help validate a buddy's quixotic home remodeling adventures isn't the very definition of friendship, I don't know what is.
Pakeha