Recently, I took a trip to the library to procure some literature on DIY Home Repair & Improvement. My goal is to purchase this home in the next year and make it my own. Home ownership comes with interesting challenges and the opportunity for a whole world of new experiences. Being a newly single woman I've never done some of this stuff before and so I'm learning as I go. I'm going to share with you some of the highlights of my "entertaining" moments.
1. I opted to paint my 8 & 4 year old sons bedroom while they were with their father over winter break. I'm the type of woman that needs to keep my hands busy when I'm upset. I clean a lot when I'm angry or have something on my mind. My projects are equal to the magnitude of what's going on in life. 6 days away from 2 of my kids resulted in a 12 x 11 bedroom painted "Aruba" blue (2 coats), new posters purchased and hung, the set up of a play table & chairs as well as laundry sorted, folded and hung (for both boys). And I did it by myself. When painting anything, especially a bedroom, there are essential things that you need to know. First, paint tape is a life saver. It's pretty and blue and helps cover things you don't want to paint. And it's the biggest pain in the ass. Almost not even worth the hassle. I do the trim, the light sockets/outlets, ceiling, around the door. It would have been more effective if I'd have used regular masking tape. The only difference was about $2 a roll. I bought this nifty edge paintbrush that basically eliminated my need for this nonsense. I discover this AFTER I'm done with the tape. Ugh. Second - Brushes are muy importante (hey, if I am going to be in the hardware section of any major chain hardware store as a Mexican I should be speaking the language!) I chose some sponge pad type brushes as they cover a larger area more evenly. Third - a paint stick. FYI - An old spatula works just as good in a pinch. And of course - PAINT! Finally I suggest ventilation. Sure, it says so on the side of the paint bucket. But damn! I was angry and I needed to paint and it's winter. So I glossed over this little tidbit. Boy did I pay the price. For a week I sounded like Marge Schott. New Kids on the Block and the Backstreet Boys are also critical to the process. You must dance, step in paint and not realize it, and track your smooth moves ALL over your children's bedroom floor. ;-) I give it a simplicity rating of 4.
2. Toilets/drains. I understand the purpose of a plunger. Clogs happen and fortunately I know how to combat this problem! So when I walked by the toilet in the bathroom in my bedroom and saw that the water was gone from the bowl I knew that there was a clog. Can someone explain to me why I flushed it anyway? Like somehow I was going to magically fix it with a flush. HAHA! The Oldest (my sarcastic 14 year old son) and I (holding my 4 month old daughter) watch helplessly as the toilet starts to overflow. Calmly I ask the water to stop. I said "Please". I even used my sweet "give me what I want" voice. But the water continued to flow. Soon my bathroom was under an inch of freezing cold toilet water. Then it ventured into the adjoining rooms - the other bathroom and my BEDROOM. It even made it into my closet, under my dresser and bed... It wouldn't stop. What the hell? How much water is going to flow? Seriously, doesn't it normally stop at some point? Oh yeah - this toilet runs every once in a while. So I take the lid off the back and go to jiggle the handle and some chain breaks. Something tells me that this really isn't good. It surely did not stop the water from continuing to flow in places it shouldn't. At this point I just start getting acquainted with the inner workings of my toilet's guts. Suddenly, as if to mock my feeble attempt at repair, a hose comes loose and goes into double time to continue to drench me in water. By this time I have quite an audience - all 4 children are now in awe of the river that is taking over our home. The Youngest Boy starts a dance. The Middle Son begins the barrage of questioning the origins of the water, the timeframe in which the water is going to cease it's relentless flow and if I can make dinner now. I love kids. I am arbitrarily pulling and pushing thingamajiggy's in the tank and swearing at each one of them when they do not result in the immediate end of the flow. Finally I found a whatsit that actually got the water to stop. Trouble is - I have to hold it. But I need to start soaking up the water. And hold the baby. And call someone. I managed to wedge a small clothes hanger into the whateveritwasIwasholding and was able to call my landlord. After using the words "sumthinerother", "thingy" and "hoogeemawhutsit" he determined that he was unable to walk me thru it over the phone. A few minutes later his wife was at the door with their teenage daughter. She contacted her husband and I was relieved to learn that she didn't know what the heck she was talking about either. So she then called her brother in law who just gutted a toilet himself. And a half an hour later he and his wife joined us in my teeny tiny bathroom. For good measure the landlord himself came to help as well. If we would have had a beer in our hands it looked much like a scene from King of the Hill complete with "Yep". A short time later I was informed the the toilet was clogged. In seconds the toilet was unclogged. It was explained to me that this one thing came off this other thing and there's a trick to it if it happens again. My intelligence quotient suffered several hits. Difficulty rating of 714.
3. Doorhandles and the value of percussive maintenance. The Oldest's bedroom doorhandle has been sticking as of late. Sometimes it takes him several minutes to get out of his room. I'd been meaning to repair that but I haven't gotten to this particular chapter in my Do It Herself handbook. In the interim I ask him to just not shut his door. So of course he closes it! No screws on the outside of the door or handle. Fortunately, the cat was NOT in his room leaving him free to shit on the hallway floor. In a moment of not knowing what the hell else to do I just hit the knob with a hammer until it's head fell off. It rolled to the floor and ceased to exist. This may come as a shock to you but it didn't help. Actually, it seemed to make matters worse. The door really wasn't opening. What's a girl to do? You hit it again! And again. And again. Take my advice - all the pent up aggression you have towards your vile, venomous soon to be former mother in law and give it to that dastardly doorknob that is obviously in cahoots with her. Smash it. It helps. Okay - what it helps is NOT the doorhandle. Sure, you *feel* better but the door is still not opening. Compose yourself for just a minute and realize the humor of the situation. You would have thought that the contents of the room were pivotal to the second coming of Christ with the way The Oldest acted. My STB ex (who has been a complete doll lately) offers to walk me thru the process to get the door open. I sent some pictures of my stellar accomplishment with my hammer and he responded with suggesting I put the hammer down. And leave it there. He offered to come by and fix it for me. Sure, I should probably learn how to do this on my own. But again, I'm not to the chapter that covers what to do with a doorknob after you've knocked the piss out of it. However, The Oldest has other ideas. Until about 4:30 a.m. He chiseled at the doorknob. I wake up to find a pen sized screwdriver, a kitchen knife, a phillips head screwdriver, a Nintendo DSi stylus, a pencil, the knife sharpener and my (now) bent hammer littering my hallway along with chunks & bits of the doorknob. The door is still tightly closed with a smug look on its face as if waving a middle finger. In between relentless hammering and stabbing of the doorknob The Oldest breaks for rounds on the Wii and Facebook and to bitch at me about the door. And he hates living here. Our old house didn't have broken doorknobs. He never got locked out before! Ugh. I resigned to let Ex Douchebag fix the doorknob (which has evolved to a metaphor for his relationship with The Oldest) but The Oldest was determined. 26 hours later the doorknob succumbed to The Oldest's violence. It was pronounced dead at about 3:00 p.m. Decorative duct tape has replaced the doorknob. Moral of the story: Don't get all medieval on a doorknobs buttocks. Difficulty rating: 8 - mainly because I missed with the hammer a few times and got straight air and it made me look stupid.
I'm sure more home improvement nightmares will fall into my lap. Of course I will share. Remind me to tell you the one about The Youngest Boy & the On Star. :-)
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