So you may remember a while back I got a fabulous new red washing machine. I love that washer, people -- which shows either that anything red really does rock my world, or that I need to get out more.
Well, the down side to getting the fabulous red washer is that I immediately began to covet the fabuous red dryer to go with it -- and to yearn for a laundry room that could live up to the fabulosity of the red glamour machines.
Well, dig this: my Contractor has been working her tail off the past two weeks, to give me the laundry room of my dreams!
My lovely red washer currently resides in my dining room, along with a whole lot of tools and construction schmutz, but when she's done -- have mercy!
First she tore out all of the ugly cabinet frames and wire shelving and battered baseboards and tacky linoleum. I felt better immediately!
And my Contractor loves "demo" -- she says it feels great to rip stuff off of walls and cut through nails with a Saws-All.
Then she patched and sanded and smoothed and prepped the walls; my Contractor is thorough, y'all!
Meanwhile I got a couple of paint samples and slapped them on a wall. That's the only painting I'm allowed to do; my Contractor has very strong feelings about proper painting technique -- and I don't have it. She told me, "just plop the samples up on the wall, because I'm going to put primer over them anyway -- you can't hurt anything." And then she promptly "fixed" the place where I had painted over some spackle.
After using her mad painting skillz to transform my boring white walls into pure gold, my Contractor hung a new door to the carport. Think about that, y'all. Her husband was her minion for the day (though I would have offered up the tall boy), because door-hanging is a four-hands operation. How swell is this new door?! And how cool is my Contractor?!
The next task was to tile the floor, which involves a whole lot of tools I don't know the name of, and some sweaty math moments, trying to make sure that the tiles in inches + grout/caulk = the square root of baseboards(x/threshold). Luckily in a former life my Contractor was an engineer.
When the floor was done, we took a break to play a game of checkers.
And my Contractor took a solemn vow never to work with black grout again unless a manicure is written into the contract.
Today, after she finishes hanging the moulding around the door, she will move the washer and (old, ugly) dryer back so my family can get a little laundry done without spending $40.00 at a time at the Spin Cycle laudrymat or hijacking the fabulous neighbor's machines. Then, while she hangs bright new cabinets, a nice man from the gas company will come and set us up to get a new dryer. Fabulous!
And my Contractor is doing all this while leading three Girl Scout troops, wrangling the copy machines at the elementary school for her daughter's fifth grade teacher, swirling her urchins to hockey practice and art lessons and orchestra rehearsal, walking dogs, making dinner, wrestling her house into submission -- and writing a novel. I shit you not.