Building the Nest: Bathroom woes

I swear, there was a bathroom here when I left last night.

I remember moving boxes into this, our new house, in preparation for the final big move at the end of the month. I remember looking in this bathroom and thinking about colour choices.

And now, less than 24 hours later, I come in to find…that.

To be fair, I had gotten a quick phone call from Dad while I was at work that morning. He said that the leak—the tiny leak from the tub that was supposed to require only a tiny patchjob—had not been as simple as predicted. The hot water pipe, not the drain, was the leaky culprit. This meant, apparently, that the wall had to be torn out a little bit.

Of course, when they tore out the wall and found that a previous owner had filled the wall behind the tub with newspapers instead of insulation, that required more demolition.

I should be grateful, and I am, that Brian’s brother is a drywaller. Because I came into the house, saw, the bathroom, and then walked right back downstairs to the kitchen, where I painted a first coat on all the walls; and by the time I was done that, the boys had put up walls again, and installed the (new) tub. Why a new tub? Because the previous owner had painted the old one by hand and it felt like sandpaper. And because once you’re redoing the whole damn bathroom anyway, you might as well replace the tub while everyone is helping out. It was a project we’d planned to delay, but sometimes you don’t get that luxury.

I’m calmer about it now, though the newspaper discovery resulted in the vinyl shower stall being torn out and destroyed, so now we’re also going to be tiling. I am not exaggerating when I say that our teeny tiny repair job has quintupled in price.

I’m grateful for Brian and his brother, who both have been through house renos with their parents. And I’m grateful for my dad, who played foreman and helped Brian sodder pipes together. (Did you know people can soder their own pipes? Neither did I.) I am also grateful for my mom, who, I’m told, brought the men lobster rolls and veggies to keep them fueled.

I am grateful for credit cards, and carefully crafted spreadsheets that will help us pay back said credit cards.

I am grateful for my old pug Mr Darcy, who sat by me while I turned off my brain and painted the kitchen. I am grateful that he’s such a dork, because he amused me by getting yellow paint all over his butt, then managed to mascara all his whiskers in blue by sniffing a freshly-painted table.

We will look back on this and laugh one day. But right now, I just sigh.

Keep Calm and Paint On.