Two weeks ago, we had a leaking roof. One week ago, we had a hole in the ceiling.
And now it's all done!
Of course it wasn't that easy (for Husbo and Jeans, anyway). For me is was Presto! But for them, it was agony.
I'm convinced that drywall dust is the evil nemesis of fairy dust. It is likewise fine and delicate but only has the ability to dirty, sully and mess everything about. No magical glass slippers here.
On the other hand, its presence usually indicates some kind of transformation in progress so perhaps it isn't all bad.
But one thing's for sure, cleaning it up is a pain in the "you know what" (as my mom would say).
Here's where things were at, right before I left:
Before it was just shadowy but here it is, foreshadowing.
Small holes turned into big rectangles.
Jeans is unsure of all the plastic sheets draped everywhere.
But here she is, feeling the fear and doing it anyway!
Fashion pose! In the sun!
And here is where I go away.
The house is sheeted in plastic and all around the outside, the sky is falling. Shingles, rotted wood, dust of all stripes and sizes. Hammers bang bang away while the walls shake in fear and the whole thing has a distinctly apocalyptic feel.
I hear the stories. Everything is laden with layers of dust. Jeans is freaked with all the comings and goings of workers. We start calling her "Barky."
Husbo says it's as bad as the first round of renos. I feel bad that he has to soldier on alone.
And then I came home.
Husbo cleaned everything thrice and made it all nice and pretty (he's the best).
And so now, up up up you look and down down down the sunbeam shines.