Take one family with an overdeveloped sense of ability and an underdeveloped sense of actual DIY-ity, add one old house owned by a different, middling DIY-er and crazy will ensue.
N. is our AAA, #1, dog walker extraordinaire, but then we sent him to camp. So our poor pooch became forlorn and lonely while his favorite boy was away. Mr. Flavius took over the dog walking duties and Ajax seemed to be doing okay, but with a little extra mope in his giddy up. Little did we know, while we were sleeping he was sneaking upstairs to the Boy Sanctuary and doing his business in their room. Imagine my surprise ( shock, horror, disgust, insert adjective here) when the boys came home and announced that their room had become less than sanitary (they left it clean, so there was no reason for this mama to make the great trek arriba).
N. and D. went to work oxycleaning to the max, but to no avail. Really, how awful? Could their be a worse homecoming? Considering all the unpacking we did all week, this was a blow to Progress.
So yesterday after church, Mr Flavius and I tackled the yuckiest room ever and removed all the carpet. The thing is, we chose this house because it was move-in ready. Id est: I do not need another talent in my wheelhouse to make this place habitable and presentable, or at least not this week. Should a rolled up carpet full of tacks and staples go scraping down the hall wallpaper, that could change my skill set considerably. That's when we decided there was another option: defenestration.
So there we were, Mr. Flavius hanging onto a rolled swath of old, icky carpet leaning farther than could possibly be safe out the third story window, while I alternately laughed hysterically and covered my eyes (have I told you about my inappropriate laughter?). Then I thought better of it and tried find purchase on him in the event of an untimely, rapid exit out said window. Then, my hero, pitched the carpet He-Man style out and over the porch roof.
Helloooo, neighbors! We're from Texas and we're crazy. . .
I really do have to wonder what my neighbors made of the scene when large rolls of rose followed by thread bare and stained grey carpet was being flung out the third floor windows. Then there was a thing, which I did not know existed, but am positive I know exactly what the mystery pad under the second layer of carpet. It is a horsehair carpet pad. An ancient, dusty and disintegrating, horsehair pad at that. Gross, gross, gross.
There were dust plumes that made my skin crawl. Despite my mega runny nose, I refused to wipe it for fear of what this involuntary fount might be protecting me from. Mr. Flavius commented that I had managed to trick him into two days of heavy labor (Saturday night, I casually suggested we move some boxes of books, which turned into a box moving extravaganza). Needless to say, we struggled on for four hours, but we prevailed. Staple and tacks removed, floors scrubbed of any and all gook, dust, and dirt, a rug laid, furniture arranged, and beds made.
And it all started with this picture:
How cute is this? Dangit. They got me again.