You may recall our fugly foyer, the unimpressive space that first welcomed us home in Spring 2008…
… and the stairwell, all caked in layers of dull, cracking paint…
… and how I heat-gunned and chemical’ed it until it was all a dried-up-boogery mess…
… and how I scraped and sanded it all down until my fingers were raw,
… and how Dylan spent Snowpocalypse 2010 constructing wainscoting…
… and a window seat…
… and how we cashed in seven years’ worth of saving from our spare change jar…
… to afford new ceiling tiles.
Oh, and did I mention that when I pulled all that disgusting, cat-pee-soaked carpet off the steps, I found a layer of linoleum, a la 1960s apartment store??!!! And how melting away that stubborn-as-hell adhesive nearly drove poor Dylan over the edge??!!! Blarg!!!!!!
Ahem. Well. Since Dylan finished his spring-semester teaching load, he’s been toiling nonstop to finish the room. It’s been magical; each day at the office, I’ve gotten iPhone pictures of his triumphs…
… and his bloody messes. (“Um. Sweetie. Do you think it’s, I dunno, maybe a little too cherry-ish?”)
He’s primed and painted and papered. He’s sweated and stained and slaved. And now….
Wait for it…
Wait for it…
Wait…
For…
It…
…
…
…
…
TA-DA!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I know, I know, I know. It’s the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen. It’s so beautiful I want to lick the black velvet right off the damask wallpaper.
My husband is the coolest husband in the history of all husbands everywhere.
It still needs a new light fixture, a window-seat cushion, vent covers, a rug, blah blah blah. But dooooooood. Can you believe this? I keep expecting some fancy-pants doorman to tap me on the shoulder and tell me to move along. This place can’t possibly belong to tramps like us.
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