Today I decided that I would rip up and repair the genuine simulated wood laminate flooring that we have had since 1996 when we built the house. This project is only about 5 years overdue. The flooring looks really lame. They are nicked and gouged especially in the high traffic areas of the kitchen. Of course this a big second choice. The first choice would be the natural stain real wood maple flooring that I have had picked out for over a year now. It is so pretty I can hardly stand it. Of course the $8500.00 price tag would impede the whole go to China to bring home kidlet #2 scenario that we have masterly planned. So, adopt kidlet #2 or get maple floors? I'm sort of embarassed that I even thought for one second about the choice. But you should see these yummy wood floors.
This post isn't really about maple flooring. As I was using some pretty hardcore tools like a heat gun and razor cutter that main muffin man practically forbid me from using I started to think about fear. I got started on this because I think he was really afraid that I would burn my finger off with his heat gun. Or worse, leave a gross hole in the floor after a failed attempt at ripping up floor strips. You'd think that any man would be turning cartwheels after his wife offered manual labor to fix kitchen flooring. Nope, and it isn't like he was beating his chest grunting and volunteering to do it himself. I've been throwing hints for over 3 years now that this needed to be done. We even had the adhesive for this little project since we thought we might attempt the fixing 2 years ago. He just did not want me to get my little labor party started. For fear of what? The unknown I guess. I think that the yucky floor was somewhat unsettling for him, but at least it was familiar. Ahhh, the familiar.
So, as I was on hour #2 of slowly lifting old floor strips in large chunks with the heat gun I started to question myself. What I am afraid of? Obviously it is not the kitchen floor. But I am afraid. I am afraid of unknown things centered around our new daughter's adoption.
- I am afraid that I will rock our little 3 person boat by bringing on 4th little person.
- I am afraid that Ava is serious when she says she'd rather have a big sister than a little sister. (We think Liv will be somewhere near 12 months)
- I am afraid that Olivia will be a champion sleeper like my first adorable kid, plugh. Right. I am having to invest in super strength dark circle cover up since she still rarely sleeps all the way through. Sleep deprivation does not agree with me.
- I am afraid I will not be able to do another 3 years of neverending gymboree classes and zoo trips and walking the mall halls for entertainment. (I know this sounds horrible it is just that when you do anything...no matter how great 18,000 times a week it can be tiresome.)
- I am afraid she won't be as healthy as Ava was and is.
- I am worried that I might completely lose my adult identity with a new one, after only losing 80% with the first.
- I am afraid my main muffin man will balk at tiresome child duties leaving me on the edge.
Ok, that is what I am afraid of. Said and done. Hmmmm. Not so bad after putting it down. I'm still afraid but just like my kitchen floor it will all turn out ok if we worry about the things we can control and not about the things out there in "can't change it" land.
I guess for today I will choose to believe that our lives with 2 kidlets will for the most part turn out like the kitchen floor today. Not all new and shiny, but comfortable and just good enough.