I recently posted the saga of the electrical wiring; I thought that was the worst of the kitchen repair.
I was wrong. Dead wrong.
I went to work Thursday morning, blissfully unaware of the devastating turn of events about to occur in my home. All he was supposed to do was replace the counter top. My father did measurements years ago for us (dead on, I might add, thanks again pops!), and his dad was coming over to help. I should mention that the DIY gene, which scientists working on the Human Genome Project have yet to map despite vigorous ongoing efforts to find and disable the gene for the good of the entire human race, is quite evident in my husband’s family. My father in law also suffers from the urge to do any and all repair work himself; luckily, he has mastered many skills and his home stands strong to this day.
Anyway, it was just a counter top. I came home thursday afternoon to something that looked like this:
What you see above is where my cabinets (top and bottom), sink, garbage disposal, and stove used to be located. My stove is now here:
Yup, behind that ladder, next to that sheet of drywall, under all that stuff, is my stove. This is where my glorious, water bearing sink used to be:
I have no running water in my kitchen now. Oh, how I love home improvement, especially spur of the moment complete destruction! I used to have lights in my kitchen too, here:
I really think the way the light fixture now dangles from the wall by the wiring adds just the right touch.
Now, you have to consider that when I came home, skipping merrily through fields of flowers while daydreaming about cooking a wonderful dinner for my family, the destruction that shattered my reverie was actually much worse. The crumbled plaster and boards full of delightful exposed nails have been removed. The dangling bare electrical wires that tempted certain death have been tucked safely behind fresh drywall, which also covers the hideous plaster walls that were hidden behind the cabinets and tile by the previous owners. This is so much better. True, my children and I have been inhaling drywall dust for four days and we have to eat out for every meal and the sink, cabinets, and garbage disposal now reside on the front porch like a glorious salute to all the other men who like to do their own remodeling with no previous training, and I have not had electricity on the bottom floor of my house for almost five days, but I have to see where I have been blessed. I have bonded with other women whose husbands suffer from the same disease, like the woman with her three young boys whose husband decided to replace all the duct work in their home, leaving every room of the house in a state of chaos. I have a husband who not only get exceptional deals on very nice cabinets, but also has handy friends who will help him hang drywall and tile flooring so that I do not have to, leaving our marriage in a much healthier state. I have children who now clean their plates at every meal without complaining, since those meals now consist of pizza and McDonald’s. And the one place on the first floor that has light is my studio, which my husband kindly separated from the drywall dust by hanging sheets of plastic so that I can work on projects without suffering too severely from asthma attacks and allergies. (Seriously, I thought that was very sweet). Plus, the boys did a hell of a job hanging that drywall, didn’t they?
Check back soon for photos of the inch thick dust covering every available surface of my home!