Tuesday, March 6, 2012

Where have YOU been?

I have been to the southernmost level of hell.   I've been visiting since the middle of January, and I have to go back today.  I don't like it, but now I'm committed.  I jumped in without a full understanding of the consequences, and now, I have to do the time.

I don't care what Milton or Dante had to say about what is located on this level; I know the truth.

The lowest level of hell is my childrens' bathroom.

For So. Many. Reasons.

However, I will not get into the rug-squishing my feet found just the other day...  ick.
 
The main reason I am spending so much time in there right now is NOT that I ate some bad sushi.  I wish it was that simple and quick. And easily resolved.

I got a wild hair in January that it was time to redecorate their bathroom.  It was time for major sprucing.

Please, please, PLEASE, please hurt me the next time I make a suggestion this ludicrous.

We moved into this home in 2004.  I was a thirty-four year old mother to two precious little girls.  Rock N Roll Princess was sixteen months old.  She was in to EVERYTHING.  I couldn't turn my back on her for a second.  The girls' bathroom was papered in a hideous grasscloth.  I wish I could find some pictures to show you just how ugly it was, but I haven't been able to locate our househunting pictures yet.  Trust me, it really is better for your minds and eyes.

The prospect of stripping grasscloth was more than a little daunting with my little rugrat underfoot.  I decided that the texture of the grasscloth would add interest, so instead of tearing it down, I just painted it yellow, put up a butterfly and flower valance, threw a couple of ladybug rugs on the floor, and pronounced it livable.

Fast-forward eight years.  The painted grasscloth had seen better days.  A corner has been broken off of the mirror.

But, mainly...

A little boy has had to pee in a girly bathroom for nearly six years.

It seemed borderline cruel.

I determined that the project could not wait one second longer, grabbed Miss Noteworthy as my assistant, and set to strippin'.

Wallpaper, you pervs.

With my trusty Russian-accented assistant (yes, we spoke in Russian accents ALL DAY LONG and told stories about "Back in Russia..." It was truly hilarious.), we made quick work of the painted top layer of the grasscloth.  We even made quick work of the most of the backing of the grasscloth.

And then all our efforts came to a screeching halt.

We were mortified to learn that underneath the hideous grasscloth there lurked a second layer of wallpaper even uglier and more treacherous than the first.  Aqua foil which refused to come off except in the smallest pieces.  No more cries of triumph as we pulled long, luxurious strips from the wall as we had with the grasscloth.


No.

We were fighting for every square inch.  Chinking away with our tools, we vowed that we would carry on until the bitter end of the eye-burning aqua foil.  We said we would not lose heart. 

And then,  I made a false move with my stripping tool and gouged the wall.

I swear I'm not making this part up.

I know you are going to think I am embellishing to make a dull wallpaper stripping story bearable.

Under the first and second layers of wallpapering lay a third even more offensive than the first two.

Our backs sore, our fingers bearing the blisters of the long day of work, we raised our white flag and called it a night.

And now I have to go back in and complete the job alone. 


Back to the trenches...


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