Labors of Love

I spent quite a bit of time yesterday helping Tracy with some home redecoration. Keep in mind that I'm HORRIBLE with tools and even worse with the APPLICATION of the intended use of said tools.

We put in an interlocking hardwood floor for a dance studio, and I felt pretty good about my inability to destroy the interlocking pieces since it's some sort of laminate designed to withstand tap/jazz/ballet practice...it's so indestructible that you need a new saw blade about every 15 cuts.

Tracy did the math and drew the lines on the wood laminate where I was to use the electric saw. And, I did well enough...surprised myself, actually. The only places I blew it were in the extreme edges which the molding will cover up. Tracy's really happy with it, and at this stage of the marriage game, if she wasn't happy with it, I'd hear about it.

Now, normally I loathe home redecoration. Mostly because once a room gets involved in that process, it keeps another room in chaos as well. Plus, I stink at it. Which leads to frustration and all sorts of doubting my masculinity so I begin to tense up at the first mention about being tired of a room.

But yesterday I didn't mind the sawdust and the wood scraps and empty boxes and I even discovered an innate ability to interlock wood laminate...especially in tight spaces. The thought of the tap/jazz/ballet that will take place in there or the paintings/drawings/creations coming out of that room by my family kept me pretty happy about the whole thing...but don't think for a second when you're hanging the entire wall of mirrors that's next on the agenda that we're above hiring a pro.