Hello and welcome back for the next installment in the One Room Challenge! Last week I laid the foundation for what should be a grueling but fairly straight forward renovation of our puny powder room. This week the husband
and I began demolition of the truly heinous and downright criminal renovations wrought by previous owners, and I am having the distinct feeling that this endeavor might result in bodily injury. To me.
Before you decide that Colonel Mustard did it in the bathroom with a hammer, let's start at the beginning of the end.
The very day I accepted this challenge, I promised my loving husband that I would hire out every single job. That we would not spend weekends and evenings painting and fretting and hanging and rehanging art like last time. Then I couldn't find a single contractor willing to come out and even look at such a small job. Then the threat of public humiliation and impending failure whipped me into a stress filled frenzy... and then Ben caved. Because I am nice, and I make a delicious pan seared halibut, and also because I birthed his two adorable babies, he really couldn't say no to my plea for help.
Which is not to say that he was happy about it.
When he started in on the Jasco paint stripper (a toxic gel with low floral notes reminiscent of Mad Dog 20/20) and I came in to document the process, the eye rolling commenced. With every scrape of shriveled polyurethane I felt his "enthusiasm" for the project dissipating, the influence of my trump card waning. I'm pretty sure he was scraping our love away.
Oh yes. For the moment, let's put aside the probability of divorce (or worse) and talk about why it's even necessary to strip and stain this vanity -- why not just buy a new one? Please see the diagram above for evidence of an ugly but useful sewer cleanout that runs to the kitchen and laundry room. Unfortunately keeping it meant that we couldn't do a swanky wall mount or pedestal sink, which is ok because obviously we need concealed storage to house a phalanx of plastic toilets and pee stained training seats. Boys and their toys, you know.
Toys like a long piece of piano wire, perfect for strangling the mirror off the wall. Hot tip #1: Goo Gone + sawing softened adhesive with a wire = no more nasty mirror. Hot tip #2: Don't embarrass your husband with a camera when he is holding a weapon.
This wall is oozing with the kind of misery that comes from sobbing behind an ugly builder grade mirror for over a decade. I wish I could say I see instant improvement here. Instead our powder room is looking more and more like an abattoir.
The tiled in baseboards have been gutted. Perfect for fluid run off.
The sink is gone, the lighting is gone, scary murder gloves are not gone.
Basically it's like a jail cell up in here.
I am hoping I didn't use all my lady chits for nothing... it is terrifying to consider that Ben might hate me AND that I must suffer the ignominy of a hideous bathroom.
Honestly, he is an angel sent down from the heavens above to serve me. That didn't come out quite right, but I am so very very very grateful for his help and hopefully when he reads these words he will decide not to kill me.
Also, next week I get my own hands dirty with sanding and staining and patching and painting. I stole my cabinet finishing idea from these guys and their amazing floors:
Perhaps Ben will at least let me stick around long enough to put this hot mess back together. And maybe to cook him a hot dinner. And other hot... things. I'm not ashamed to say that I will use every tool in my arsenal to survive.
My charms are limited. Call 911 if no one's here next Wednesday morning.
Until then, please do visit my fellow challengers. What a lineup!