Our house is well over 100 years old. In 2007, when we moved in, it had quite a few rough edges. Some we dealt with right away. Other projects we took on in anticipation of the LG and then the LD's arrivals. But some things we just never quite got to. Who has the time?
And in time, we sort of stopped noticing anyway - except when guests were about to arrive, which is why, two weeks before Ashley's family arrived for Thanksgiving, the dinginess of the long-neglected upstairs bathroom was just too much to bear.
We remembered that, when we bought the place, our Realtor had suggested this not-too-expensive treatment you can do to re-glaze sad, sorry, dingy old tile-work like ours. It seemed like just the thing.
So, Ashley called around and found someone who could squeeze us in just in time for our guests. "The only thing you need to do," they said, "is replace any cracked tiles" - of which there were 10, maybe 12 in our bathroom.
And how hard could that be?
That weekend, as Drew had his morning nap, Ashley hit Home Depot and came back with what seemed like all the necessary tools and tiles. When Baby Drew woke up, I hung out with him and the other kids, and she went at it.
An hour, maybe ninety minutes later, Ashley came down with flecks of blood on her hands and a look on her face that was not a happy look.
"What?" I asked.
"It's bad," she said. "Come look."
I followed her upstairs and found the surprise she'd discovered lurking under those 10 maybe 12 tiles, which had become several dozen more tiles to reveal the full extent of the water-damaged nastiness:
And I thought, "Oh s%*t." And I thought contractors. And I thought expenses we hadn't budgeted for. And I thought who knows how many weeks or months before we have a working bathroom again.
It was a low moment.
But that night, Ashley called in the help of friends who actually know what they're doing. And the next day, she went out to the suburbs, where our friend Curt is rebuilding a fire-damaged mansion. And Curt gave her all the tools we REALLY needed, and a crash course in how to use them, and a timeline to get it done.
"I need them back in two days," he said.
And so, for the next 48 hours, there was even less sleep than usual and power tools and more trips to Home Depot, and on the second day, a clutch visit from Curt that prevented us from drilling in to unseen waterlines and flooding our entire house.
And then it looked like this.
And then it looked like this.
And then, after twenty four hours for the tiles to set, and another twenty four for the grout to dry, and then overnight for the caulking, with no time to spare, the glazing guy arrived, and we all split - wow were those some powerful fumes. When we came back that afternoon, they were still overwhelming. So, as the thermometer dipped into the 30s, we put on jackets and hats and gloves and left windows and doors wide open to let the fresh air in.
But that next morning...
What a great idea!
What a wife!
And in time, we sort of stopped noticing anyway - except when guests were about to arrive, which is why, two weeks before Ashley's family arrived for Thanksgiving, the dinginess of the long-neglected upstairs bathroom was just too much to bear.
We remembered that, when we bought the place, our Realtor had suggested this not-too-expensive treatment you can do to re-glaze sad, sorry, dingy old tile-work like ours. It seemed like just the thing.
So, Ashley called around and found someone who could squeeze us in just in time for our guests. "The only thing you need to do," they said, "is replace any cracked tiles" - of which there were 10, maybe 12 in our bathroom.
And how hard could that be?
That weekend, as Drew had his morning nap, Ashley hit Home Depot and came back with what seemed like all the necessary tools and tiles. When Baby Drew woke up, I hung out with him and the other kids, and she went at it.
An hour, maybe ninety minutes later, Ashley came down with flecks of blood on her hands and a look on her face that was not a happy look.
"What?" I asked.
"It's bad," she said. "Come look."
I followed her upstairs and found the surprise she'd discovered lurking under those 10 maybe 12 tiles, which had become several dozen more tiles to reveal the full extent of the water-damaged nastiness:
And I thought, "Oh s%*t." And I thought contractors. And I thought expenses we hadn't budgeted for. And I thought who knows how many weeks or months before we have a working bathroom again.
It was a low moment.
But that night, Ashley called in the help of friends who actually know what they're doing. And the next day, she went out to the suburbs, where our friend Curt is rebuilding a fire-damaged mansion. And Curt gave her all the tools we REALLY needed, and a crash course in how to use them, and a timeline to get it done.
"I need them back in two days," he said.
And so, for the next 48 hours, there was even less sleep than usual and power tools and more trips to Home Depot, and on the second day, a clutch visit from Curt that prevented us from drilling in to unseen waterlines and flooding our entire house.
And then it looked like this.
And then another friend, though gone for the weekend, had a neighbor let Ashley in to their Mission Hill apartment to collect their tile cutter, which James and I had a ball with in the yard, measuring, scoring, and cutting, and then him racing them the tiles up to the third floor for Ashley to set them in place.
And then it looked like this.
And then, after twenty four hours for the tiles to set, and another twenty four for the grout to dry, and then overnight for the caulking, with no time to spare, the glazing guy arrived, and we all split - wow were those some powerful fumes. When we came back that afternoon, they were still overwhelming. So, as the thermometer dipped into the 30s, we put on jackets and hats and gloves and left windows and doors wide open to let the fresh air in.
But that next morning...
What a great idea!
What a wife!
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