When Toilets Attack III
So during my spring break, the wood floors and carpet went in at our house to replace the damaged floors that had been removed. Somehow, despite the odds against them, my children had managed to not get a single splinter in their feet from the subflooring OR step on a single carpet tack strip over the last few months. This was despite the fact that the mitigation company left carpet tack strips around the doorjambs to their bedrooms. Their father, the velociraptor, and I, however, were not as lucky. We stepped on carpet tacks and managed to get splinters repeatedly.
The floor installers decided that it would be the best idea to do all of the cutting of the wood floor in our house. This, apparently, is not what they are supposed to do. They are supposed to cut the wood in the garage or...outside. Needless to say it made an awful mess of my house (see below). And this picture does not do it justice because this was after we had started to clean up the saw dust. It was everywhere. On everything. In every nook and cranny and even the nooks and crannies inside those nooks and crannies. It was stuck to the walls (thanks static electricity and....science)
They actually did me a solid, in that, the saw dust masked all of my regular dust so I was able to stomp around and say "Just look at the mess they made!" and shirk all responsibility and shame for not having dusted in like, months. So, thanks guys!
After they did a moderately ok job of cleaning up the mess and left, I started to really clean up. I divided the floor into a grid (in my head) and each part had to go through four steps.
1) All surfaces (other than the floor) and any knick-knacks or appliances in that area were thoroughly dusted or cleaned. This sawdust then went on the floor (which was still covered in sawdust)
2) Vacuum (on floor setting)
3) Wet mop with wood floor cleaning pad
4) Wet mop again with a new cleaning pad
Since everything was covered in dust, not just the floor, this process took a long time. In one day, I was able to get all of the wood floors clean, the furniture wiped down, all of the shelves cleaned, and most of the knick-knacks cleaned (but not necessarily put back).
When my kids got home from school, I flopped on the couch for a little while to watch a show with Abby. My husband came home, walked around, and, I was hoping, thinking about what an awesome job I had done cleaning up all of the sawdust and getting all of the furniture cleaned and set to rights.
His only comment (and these were almost his last words) was "I will probably stay home tomorrow because I thought that more of this would be done by now." He said it the calmness of one who suffers often with the inefficiency of his maids and butlers. I mean, it is hard to find good help these days.
*Side note: There is no maid or butler, there is only me. Just me. And the velociraptor who sprinkles black dog fur around like a fanged fuzzy version of Tinkerbell.
The first thing that went through my head when he said this was...I am going to carve those words on your headstone.
Then, I lost it. I said some words. Some not very well thought out, not very nice words. Words that were crafted like a knife to stab him in the heart, twist, bar-b-q it, and eat it.
I snapped. I was sweaty, smelled bad, and every time I blew my nose, sawdust came out. My knees and legs hurt, and my hands were so dry from the dusting solution and floor cleaner that I could have removed rust from an iron fence. I snapped.
He went on a drive to cool off because my comments upset him.
Later, I apologized for the words.
See, I sometimes forget that my husband is a fixer. And not like the sort of fixer associated with organized crime. My husband would be the last guy to smash someone's knees with a baseball bat for not repaying their back alley loan. No, my husband is the sort of fixer that would find the person with smashed knees, call 911, move the crowd back after asking if anyone was a doctor or EMT, ensure clear access for emergency vehicles, and organize the whole scene so that it would be running smoothly and at its most efficient. He is that sort of fixer.
And while he may have noticed that the floor and furniture were clean, he was already focused on dealing with the next set of problems, which was continuing to bring the house back to its original state of mediocre cleanliness, since we had, at that point, been displaced for months.
When you are married someone who is a "fixer" you often find yourself saying things like "I am going to tell you about my day and I just want you to listen." Because a "fixer" will always jump in with different solutions to problems or tell you how you could have handled a situation differently. Or how they would have done or said something in a different (often more efficient) way.
And it drives you bonkers because, if you are like me, you have accepted your awkwardness and know that in any given situation, you will almost always make the wrong choice as to what to say, or do, OR make the entire situation as awkward as humanly possible.
You get used to it because, at their heart, they are just trying to help. Even though it seems obnoxious and it will never "cure" your awkwardness.
So, the floors are in and clean up has begun. Final pictures to follow.