robot•jumping•rope

note to self: if consideration of another house with circa-1950 shellac floors in need of refinishing comes to mind, RUN SCREAMING INTO TRAFFIC.

it seemed to be going well. 15 pads of 26-grit later, we realized the shellac was turning to yellow sludge from the heat of Mr. Random Orbital Sander (thanks, Angela, now I have to call him that). My hands are raw this morning - oh, and I picked up some poison ivy at the Farm, because it has encased my body. And the Artiste thinks he has strep. Just call us Itchy and Scratchy.

But being the good midwestern kids we are, we will persevere. Picked out the stain last night (deep nutmeg!) and it actually looks fantastic on the scrap pieces we are trying. Kinda dark (gulp), and that makes me nervous because my sofa is chocolate brown, but the man swears it will have an amber cast. he so better be right about that.

Better get our sick little selves in gear because the kids are at the Farm, still, and I miss them, and they miss us. Hoping to put down a coat of stain and one coat of finish, then get out of here and let it dry while I pick up the offspring and hang out with my mom.

Oh, and for those of you wondering about that photo of my man at work yesterday - that’s not him - this is he:

- and just so ya know, the baby was playing in the sandbox while I worked inside - he was eating sand, not piles of lead-filled shellac dust, and I could see him the entire time :)

update: o crap.  he DOES have strep.  he just went and got a shot in the tushie.  poor grizzly ad- Artiste.  does this mean everyone in my house has it?  i’m throwing out the toothbrushes right now…