As the wise Christian Slater said in Heathers, “Chaos is what killed the dinosaurs, darling.” So it goes with bathroom beauty dreams in a house that’s built in 1947. It’s been a frenzied situation where everything that could go wrong has. I’m trying to smile despite the dust, muck and frustrated tears. But sometimes I just want to run away until it’s done and have some hunky guy massage away the chaos.
First, I must say thank goodness for my in-laws and husband. They’re saving us major moolah by tackling the work themselves and took the bathroom down to the studs. But the home repair gods have a cruel sense of humor. Cement over chicken wire for the walls instead of drywall. The 3-inch thick, soundproof paper over the cement. Oddly shaped and out-of-date plumbing supplies are necessary. Oh, and the list does go on.
And for our part, Evan and the dogs are trying to stay out of trouble. I try to not let my cranky pants pregnancy hormones rage too much—and, really, that’s the biggest contribution of all. There’s tools threatening to trip me, drywall and various toxic dusts all over for the dogs to lick and Evan to get into, and the only working toilet is on the second floor.
We lived at my in-laws’ pad for the first few days thanks to the lack of crucial running water and power in some parts of the house. Crazy me, I wasn’t willing to go bare butt in the backyard for all the neighbors to see when I peed the 50 times a day.
Now, it’s still trying to finish up (when not at day jobs) the project that feels like the song that never ends. Sing it with me, “It’s the bathroom that never ends. It just goes on and on, my friends. Some people started the plumbing not knowing the terror it truly was…”
Until then I will try to find my calm, remember how beautiful it will be, and thank my in-laws and husband for all their hard work. I just hope I don’t go the way of the dinosaurs until I can at least take my first shower.
P.S. Photos to come when I can unbury the computer room.
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