Happy Summer!

At lunch today, DH said, "One year ago today, you were pouring me out of your car."

I just stared at him, confused, trying to remember the last time he was in a state that would require me to act as designated driver.

"My surgery."

Oh yeah! A year ago, DH had minor surgery, and after waking up in recovery and trying to convince both me and the nurse that he was perfectly okay to drive himself home, he relented and let me do the honors.

Then the derecho hit and we were left with quite a mess.

So one year later we're sitting in our living room on a 90° day and I hear a noise. Not a really bad, the high-voltage power line just blew a hole in the neighbors' driveway kind of noise, but one that concerns me.

"Something's wrong with the attic fan," I say to DH.

"What?"

"The attic fan. Something's wrong. It sounds like...like the motor is running but the fan isn't kicking on."

DH, which in this instance refers to "Distracted Hubby," replies, "uh huh." My fault really, we just picked up an airsoft gun for target practice/squirrel deterrent and he's understandably enthralled.

Old-ass attic fan, Glamour Shots style.

So I do what I always have to do in these situations, I went up in the attic. And just like when I go up on a ladder, DH then becomes very concerned, what with me being the Queen of Clumsiness and all, and he put down the shiny new toy and went up into the 120° attic to discover that the fan, in fact, was not spinning.

Why? Well, because as all really old, crappy-ass fans are wont to do, it broke. Spun itself right of the shaft, it did. And now it's in our living room.

So while DH is on a quest to find a replacement for a fan that is quite possibly older than either one of us, I say to you, dear reader (hi, Mom!), happy summer, and may your attic fans be in better shape than ours.

When I said done...

...what I actually meant was mostly done.

After the floor was painted, I felt a great sense of relief, to be sure. 2 years after that fateful Saturday morning and we finally got to the point where we could think about moving everything that had taken over the rest of the house back into the utility room.

But first...cove base. If you think you don't know what cove base is, think again. It's that edging at the base of the wall that you don't necessarily notice but it adds a nice finishing touch to a room, kind of like quarter round, but with less drama.

More glue!

Less drama, but more glue.

And more rolling.

Rolling out the bubbles...

Isn't that a nice color combination? I picked it out  myself. Occasionally I get things right.


 Once the cove base was down, it was time to put together the work table. 'Cuz really, what kind of utility room doesn't have a work table?

Not ours.

You can see the cove base and how it adds that nice finishing touch to the walls. Props to DH for the idea. I hadn't actually realized it existed until he suggested we add it to the room and then I started seeing it everywhere.

Jill approves.

While DH was assembling the work table, I was retrieving the ridiculous amount of stuff that had spread out throughout the rest of the house and trying to organize it all on our new, fabulous shelves.

And putting our tools in their new, fabulous home.

DH isn't a fan of my describing the manly tool chest as "fabulous," but this is my blog, so here, it's fab-u-lous!

This, my friends (hi, Mom!) is a pretty bitchin' utility room work area...with enough buckets to make even the most discriminating walrus happy.

So the joy of my day was topped of by a brilliant moment when I actually impressed DH. We've been together almost a decade now, so whenever I do or say something that I think should impress him...it doesn't. But this day...on this magical day moving back into the utility room and reclaiming the previously overrun spaces...I impressed my husband.

He needed to drill 1/2" pilot holes in the bottom of the work table's top and as he's reading the instructions aloud, I go over to the newly-organized shelves and pull out some painter's tape. Why? 

Well...because this:

As I'm pulling off a short piece of tape, DH, while still looking down, says, "Could you get me some tape?"

"You mean the stuff I have in my hand?"

And that...as silly as it sounds...is how I impressed my husband. I knew the trick.

The trick: If you need to drill a pilot hole to a certain depth, use a piece of tape to mark that depth directly on the bit. It's simple and it works.

I wasn't the only one who found a bit of bliss on this day. As I was restoring order by putting things away in their proper places, the kitty rediscovered the linen storage in the spare bedroom.

Happy kitty, sleepy kitty, purr, purr, purr.

...DONE!

On this day, the 5th of May, 2013, I'd like to thank all those who made this incredible accomplishment possible.

To my family: Without all your support, encouragement, and good-humored mockery, this day wouldn't have been nearly as gratifying.

To the makers of alprazolam—the generic Xanax: Without your product, my marriage would have had the lifespan of a Kardashian union.

And most of all, to my dear, patient, hard-working husband: Thank the Universe your back is stronger than mine.

Before...

Now it just needs to cure.

...after!

Wait for it...

It's been too long since my last post, I know. But here I am again, on Star Wars Day, sharing how the Force is with us.

Many moons ago, DH (oh yeah, we're hitched now!) gutted the utility room. As part of the re-do, we decided to paint the floor. After the stripping step, the project went exactly nowhere.

Until yesterday.

Is that...progress???

 Yesterday I masked the wall. That, my friends is progress.

Funny thing about masking the bottom of the wall, though, it's not super-easy. I could have, of course, bought that masking paper that's a combo of tape and paper, but eons ago when I bought the supplies, I figured I'd save myself a few bucks and just the plain ol' paper. We already had boatloads of tape, so it'll be a cinch to just tape it up—or so I thought.

Oodles and oodles of wasted paper.

This is what happened when I tried to just hold up the paper and tape it just high enough off the floor that the tape would hold it in place.

I failed.

That might not look like much all bunched up, but that's about 15' of paper and probably 20' of tape.

Sitting on the steps with camera in hand—because what kind of DIY'er would I be if I didn't document my failures along with my successes—my mind wandered to FrogTape.

As you may remember, I love the FrogTape and I believe it makes any painting project so much easier. But I knew that it wouldn't solve the problem of taping up the masking paper...or would it?

FrogTape to the rescue!!!

FrogTape comes in a sturdy plastic container slightly larger than the tape itself. And guess what. The tape widths I had were both narrower than the tape I was using to secure the masking paper.

So in a stroke of genius—or so I like to tell myself—I put the roll of masking paper on the FrogTape container and slowly unrolled it against the wall, taping as I went.

It took hours, literally, because there are a whole lot of corners and bends in that tiny little room, but I got it done. Go me.

And this morning, with the aid of the Force, DH and I put the first coat of paint on that floor. It's a multi-part system so we still have 2 more steps to go, but if we don't get it done in 48 hours, we'll have to start again from scratch.

I refuse to start again from scratch.

So, my friends, enjoy May the Fourth, and may your day be unaffected by the Dark Side.

(The wait is over...)