LawMommy says my blog is fabulous! And I didn’t even pay her to say it! I’m amazed, really, because I’ve been feeling like my blog has gotten rather boring. Not boring for me to write, just boring for all you people who keep reading it because I guess you’re hoping it will get spew-your-beverage funny again.
Anyway, a big thank you to LawMommy, who I would have nominated myself, but now I guess I can’t. But we’ll get to all the meme rules and nominations and whatnot in a little bit.
First? I am going to regale you with the tale of my continued near death experience. And it’s not just mine, it is also being shared, experienced, suffered, whatever, by my children; my children who will now probably have Swiss cheese for brains due to my ineptitude.
Remember not so long ago when our sump pump crapped out and caused a wee bit of flooding in the bedroom portion of our basement? So we ripped out the carpet? And, since everything had to be moved out of the bedroom so we could rip the carpet out, I decided it would be a perfect time to repaint the room?
Well, I got the repainting done, and I’m really happy with it, but we’ve had this debate over whether or not to re-carpet the room or put in a tile floor. McH is all for the tile floor. I think tile is awfully cold for a basement, but more importantly? Not all of the water in the room came from the actual overflowing of the sump pump. Some of it came up in the seams between the cement slabs that make up the floor. I know this because there was also a very minimal amount of water in our storage room, and it was obviously seeping up through the seams. So is it a good thing to cement tile down to a place where water naturally flows if there is no working sump pump to keep it out of there?
I don’t know.
We couldn’t agree on what to do, so I finally said, “Hey, I’ll just paint the floor for now, and we can always throw carpet or tile whatever on it later, after we’ve had more time to research the issue and come to an agreement.”
Paint the floor???? Yes, paint the floor. Our very first house had a quaint little balcony and my mother and I painted its floor. I got so many compliments on the beautiful stone floor on that balcony. Seriously. When we were trying to sell the house, our real estate agent got it featured in the local daily paper (in the “affordable living” section of the real estate section), and the woman who did the write up raved about the imported tile floor of the balcony. I was mortified! Mortified! Because, after all, it was just paint.
So I thought, why not do something similar in the girls’ room? Logical, right? Right? Right?????
I know, you’re wondering when we’re all going to start dying, and I’m getting there. Seriously.
So, yesterday, I finally get some time to start working on painting the floor. Oh happy day! As I was starting the project I even had a happy little poem pop into my mind:
I’ve never painted a floor before,
Never painted a floor, says I.
But I slopped some paint down
and then spread it around.
Gosh, ‘twas easy as pie.
Obviously I have painted a floor before (see balcony story above), but this was the first time I’ve painted an interior floor, and I was quite happy with the way this project was working with the laws of gravity rather than against them. I guess that and the fumes would explain why I was writing stupid poetry in my head while painting, because I honestly don’t write poetry in my head or on paper very often.
Of course, I’m not claiming it’s good enough to actually be classified as poetry, but at least it’s better than that inaugural poem.
Anyway, did I mention the fumes may have had something to do with it? Dear Mother of Heaven! I’m getting to the dying part now.
I should have read the back of the paint can before I got started. I’m guessing it says something along the lines of, “Don’t use indoors unless you have an entire wall of windows which can be left open for two consecutive weeks, or you shall surely die.”
But I wouldn’t know if it actually says that, because I just poured the paint onto the floor and let in run down the can when I was done pouring (because, really, who cares if some runs onto the floor at this point, right?). Anyway, it all ran down the back of the can, so I can’t read the death warnings now.
My entire house smells like a can of floor paint. MY. ENTIRE. HOUSE.
Then? Yesterday? I was doing laundry, and when I took some out of the dryer I was hit with a smell, a hot, almost camp-fiery, but somehow not smell. So, grrreat, something is now also wrong with the dryer. Except? McH tore it apart (he’s a handy one, that husband of mine, especially when he’s got my dad on the other end of the phone), and couldn’t find anything wrong with anything. He vacuumed out any and all lint, checked the exhaust hose thingy, made sure no wildlife had built a nest in it where it vents out of the house, everything. But nothing. And you’re wondering what this has to do with all of us dying a slow death by paint fumes. All I can say is, EVERYTHING, apparently.
Skip forward to this morning (and believe me I am offering many prayers of thanksgiving that none of us died last night from floor paint fume asphyxiation) and I am opening windows and doors in sub-zero temperatures because I really don’t want to die, nor do I want my children to die. As we were freezing, trying to do some school, trying not to keel over from the fumes (have I mentioned the FUMES????) I got the bright idea to start making my sparkly man Twilight cookies for book club tonight. The oven will help off-set the arctic air blowing through my house, right?
I pre-heated the oven and then, just for Ss & Gs, decided to open it up and check things out before I actually started making the dough. Oh. My. Gosh. I was hit with a smell, a hot, almost camp-fiery, but somehow not smell.
There is nothing wrong with my freaking dryer. It is my freaking air! When some major appliance, say a dryer or oven, heats it up, it smells like my house may actually explode.
The way I figure it, even if we all make it out of this alive, we’ll at least have suffered some kind of brain damage and will have malignant tumors growing in the most unexpected places within the next decade. In the meantime I can’t even make my cookies for tonight lest they taste like explosive chemicals (which I expect they would, because that is how the laundry smelled).
So the moral of this story is: If your husband wants to cement tile down to a floor that may or may not have water leak up through it sometime in the future? Just let him. He’s the one who will have to deal with the fallout anyway, and you’ll be alive to see it, and mock him.
Now, before I go open the windows and doors again (going in cycles here) I want to attend to the most important business of the Fabulous Blog Award.
1. Pass it on to 5 fabulous blogs, and include the one that gave it to you (and link them).
2. List 5 of your fabulous addictions…..
Oh the narrowing down to five. I mean, if I only thought there were five really good blogs out there, I wouldn’t have a fragillion in my Google reader account, now would I? But here goes:
1. Kweenmama’s Kastle She blogs about parenthood with teenagers (see? I’m gleaning for the future) and being a blended family (I’m hoping to pick up tips for family members). Plus? It turns out one of her kids used to pal around with David Archuleta. How fabulous is that??? (Honestly, though I know who he is, I wouldn’t recognize him if I saw him on the street. Or on t.v.)
2. According to the Mother of Terrifying Space Monkeys Doesn’t her blog title just say it all? She has kids. AND she calls them terrifying space monkeys. She also won NaNo this year. And? I know her in real life. She rocks.
3. The Delightful Delaney I’m sure Stacey will be nominated for this award a thousand times. And why not? Have you seen her little girl’s eyes? Fabulous!
4. Cheers Y’All Lauren is a woman of fabulous strength, even when she doesn’t feel like she is.
5. The Ben Show Thought provoking, funny, and inspirational. Ben’s Mom is fabulous.
My Five Fabulous Addictions? Really? Umm . . .
1. Shoes. I love to buy shoes. I think I’ve only bought two pair this past year, so that’s not so bad, right? Okay, maybe three. But still . . . It’s not my fault my feet stopped growing and the shoes just accumulate. Geesh. I have been known to buy nine or ten pairs at time when I’ve found a really great sale. Don’t judge me.
2. Diet Dr. Pepper. I don’t know that this is fabulous, though. I mean, the Dr. Pepper is fabulous, but the addiction? Not so much. I’ve gotten myself off of it a couple of times in the past year, but every time I do my migraines come back with a vengeance within a few days, and the thing that works best for me is Tylenol and caffeine, so I just never manage to stay off the stuff for too long.
3. Buying books. I don’t know why, but I buy books for myself more than I check them out of the library. I buy lots of books for the kids, too. Why do I buy so many books? I mean, if you have to buy something you could borrow instead, I think books are an excellent thing to have on hand. The thing is? I have stacks of books I’ve bought but still haven’t read yet. It’s a sickness, I tell ya.
4. Blogging. I just love to write. It is cathartic for me. It is my version of A Room of One’s Own. I mean, not my version of that actual book, but my own room, you know? Which is crazy since anyone in the world can read it; but still, it’s my space (but not MySpace).
5. Seriously? I think I’m out. I’m Mormon, people. We’re not supposed to have addictions!