Skip to main content

Sanding 101

We are taking a break this weekend…from sanding, that is.

Over the past year, Pierre and I have slowly and steadily (I think I can, I think I can) refinished the floors in our home. We bought a 60 year-old colonial a little over five years ago. By no means could our home be considered old, and the previous owners had made some serious renovations before selling, but the house definitely had some wear-and-tear that needed attention.  So since moving in, we’ve been quietly (and sometimes not so quietly) doing some DIY renos. The salespeople at Lowe’s love us! We’ve refinished the powder-room, added a playroom with wood-burning stove to the basement, landscaped, built the boys a playhouse, built a new shed and more. And 60 years of feet, pets, kids, furniture and spills can do a number on hardwood floors. So we’ve sanded down and refinished all the rooms in the house. Well, almost. There is one left, and when the guest room is done, I never, ever want to see a sander again. Like, ever (thank you Taylor Swift).

Let me tell you something about sanding: it is dirty. The amount of dust is not to be believed. Even with closed doors or drop-cloths hung in the doorways, the dust manages to seep into every corner of the house. I clean dust for days after each sanding job. It gets onto every shelf, toy, carpet, mantel, dish, pillow, towel, dog, kid, and picture frame. Did I mention that Benjamin is allergic to dust?

Here’s me sanding underneath the kitchen counters last January, which was the biggest pain in the tush job if ever one existed (can you tell how much I love sanding?). Notice the dust all over my jeans, and imagine that all over your house. No exaggeration.
DSC09765

Pierre’s back will never be the same after all the varnishing by hand either.

DSC09773

BUT, even I have to admit that the final results were worth it (minus the poly cans on the counter):

DSC09774

This winter, we refinished the upstairs. We sanded, varnished, painted and cleaned (and then cleaned again). Here’s a neat shot of the floor before and after:

P2110029
Since we were painting, each of the boys wanted to choose the color of his room. We took them to Lowe’s, picked-out a few acceptable paint-swatches to choose from, and bought each the color of his choice. Benjamin, of course, wanted blue. Here’s his finished room:

P2110027P2110028

I think that both boys were pretty happy with it.

P2110031

There was one small glitch with letting the boys pick paint colors: Nicholas’ room has wood-paneling on all four walls. I have no idea why. It’s the only room in the house with wood panels, and I’ve actually grown to love it. The wood makes for a cozy kid’s room, so Pierre and I weren’t about to take it down, especially considering that we had no idea what we’d find underneath all that wood. The compromise? Nicholas chose his favorite color, and we painted his closet door green. Pierre wasn’t too keen on this endeavor, but he was a good sport about it, and the finished result left us with a very happy three-year-old.

P2180087P2180088

One room left to go, but this weekend there is a moratorium on home renovations in our house. Well, sort of. You see, Pierre and I had a date-night last night. Guess where we went? To the home show, to look at ideas on gutting and redoing the bathroom. Gawk!

xo Naomi

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Funny Medicine

So, after blogging about Ben’s ear infection, a good friend messaged me on Facebook with a unique remedy for ear pain. She’s had a ruptured eardrum, so if she says that this works, I’m inclined to believe her. Here’s the message: “If Ben complains about pain, take an onion and mash it as you would a potato. Then, wrap it in something and heat it in the microwave till it’s hot (not hot like I'll burn you if I touch it, but hot). Take it out of the microwave and wrap it in a towel (don't worry you can wash it out after), put it on a pillow and then have Ben put his sore ear on it. When he no longer feels the heat, move a piece of towel away so he is one layer closer to the onion.” What do you think? Neat, eh? My pediatrician recommended a few drops of olive oil in the ear to ease pain. I’ve tried it with Ben, and it seemed to give him some relief. I’m going to try the onion. Why not? It’s an alternative that just might work. And I think that Ben would find it kind of fun to put...

Here we go….

I’ve been wanting to start a blog for a while now. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about starting it, talking about starting it, tinkering with the layout (and that was hard because I am basically a computer-dummy), and now, writing it. Is anyone actually going to read what I write on here? Maybe. Well….my mom will read it (Hi Mom!). Regardless, I do have a purpose to starting this, and here it is: Deciding to be a mom was one the very best decision that I have ever made (second only to marrying Pierre), and I want to share that. The time spent being home with my boys goes by so fast. Ok….let’s rephrase that….actual days can seem endless (and there are definitely times when I call Pierre at work, and tell him not to dare come home without wine. Or chocolate. Or both!!), but still each day, each week, seems to be going by faster and faster. I blinked and my youngest went from being a baby to turning three years old this coming Tuesday. And the next time I blink he’ll be thirty-three!...

A Brother’s Love

The boys had ice-cream for dessert tonight. In fact, not only did they have ice-cream, they had an ice-cream sundae with whipped cream and strawberries, a special treat as only Grandma can make. Spoiled little bugs. Just as my two sweet-toothed monkeys were about to dig-in, Grandpa, being “the silliest” as Nicholas calls him, pulled a fast one. Taking Nicholas’ bowl of ice-creamy-yumminess, Grandpa said: “Mmmm-mmmm. That’s my ice cream, Nicholas. Thank you!” And he pretended to gobble up the bowl. Nicholas was not impressed. He stuck-out his bottom lip, and gave a somewhat convincing fake cry while burying his little head in his chair. I wouldn’t have awarded him an Oscar for this particular performance, but his point was clear enough: Grandpa had his ice cream, and he wasn’t going to let it be eaten without protest. Now Benjamin, watching all this unfold, had a very different reaction. His big, blue eyes welled up with tears, not of the crocodile variety, his face cru...