The room looked pretty good when we woke up this morning. I did some more taping and Husband did some more patching/mudding. We made a 400-mile round-trip visit to see Husband's mother in her nursing home downstate. At 7:30 we were back at home and by 8:15 pm, we were back in the room sanding, taping and priming.
It all looks awful. I feel like we're never going to get this done.
And while we're busy in the little guy's room, the rest of the house is going to Hell in a handbasket. Drywall dust has escaped little guy's room and has blown into ours, and is traveling up the hallway. Laundry is piling up. Dishes are piling up. The Home Depot I peed in downstate tonight had a cleaner bathroom than either of ones that are in my own home.
I just cleaned the cat box, but I can still smell poop, so that disgusting little fucker has shat in a mystery spot. I imagine the turd in question is covered in a thick layer of drywall dust and I may have just primed it into a permanent spot in the baseboards.
I am on schedule in my freaking out. Usually by Day 7 of a project, Husband comes home to find me in a corner on the floor, a pile of greasy, paint-stained hair, mascara tears and desperation. We started this project last Monday. I'm actually running a bit behind. Christmas must have distracted me.
We know what we have to do tomorrow. Bring up the big ladder and tape off the ceiling so we can prime the molding up top. Sand the door a little more. Wipe down areas that were sanded. Get two coats of paint on all the trim ... doors, windows, molding and baseboards. Paint all the backs of the Billy shelves to match the walls.
Clean the entire house.
And then leave here by 4:15 so we can meet friends for dinner and a hockey game in the burbs.
Insomnia is not an option tonight.