Wednesday, March 23, 2011


There is no place to eat in this house that isn't over carpet. Unless you stand in the kitchen and eat at the counter I guess, which I frequently do. Not because I'm trying to keep the carpet clean but just because that's what moms do way too often.
So last year the plan was to get wood flooring. Our next door neighbor, who is strangely unfriendly, does this for a living and I had him come over to take the measurements and give me a bid. Then the pergola and the piano happened and the cost of flooring went out the window. So the grand plan was for us to do it in March of this year. As you can imagine, this has been a highly anticipated event for me. I have been keeping one eye closed to the carpets thinking, "(x many more months, days, etc) and it will be gone." But this lurking guilt was nagging at the back of my mind, as is always there. Should I really spend this much on floors? The bid was one thing, but after putting in the pergola I learned all about bids and how they can double on you in the blink of an eye. Even if the bid was on target did I really want to spend this much?
I am Bob in What About Bob--"I need! I need! I need!"
Except it isn't a need. I knew that. I am praying, "I know it's selfish, but I just really want this wood flooring..." knowing full well it is a ridiculous thing to be praying about. But all around me people are really struggling in this economy. Especially our self-employed friends. Oh the joys of being self-employed--the seasons of feast and famine. I knew that if I got these floors, even with Peter's blessing, I could be walking around on what he may need to make payroll in January.
Not to forget those student loans for that master's degree that we've never used but maybe someday we will . . .
Once I made the decision I felt a whole lot better. I knew I could live without wood. So I went carpet. The most indestructible, multi-colored, no vacuum marks, lots o' brown, bordering on commercial grade carpet I could find.

Here is the installers on Thursday ripping out the old stuff.
I went outside as my friend and the carpet installers looked on with wide eyes and proceeded to pour bleach straight onto a piece of remnant. Not a mark. Came back an hour later? Not a spot. Overnight? No color change--nothing but the faint scent of bleach.
Kid proof?
We'll see about that.

This will give me a good five years to save for wood.
Or pay off student loans.
Or my house. I'd take that too.
Psshaw--who am I kidding?

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