Home improvements are a great thing when they are done. Not so much when they are in the “doing” phase. Especially when you’re doing it yourself.
My hubby undertook the challenge of redoing the ceiling in the kitchen and dining room. Granted, it should have been done long ago when a tropical storm uprooted some shingles and leaked onto said ceiling, but I was happy that it was finally happening.
As expected, there was some initial layout for wood, stain, and the obvious need for a new power tool. In this case, it was a nail gun. Now some wives might be miffed about that but I am of the opinion that if it makes the job easier, go for it! Nothing is happier than a man with a new power tool.
I braced myself for the mess. It was pretty tolerable until the Saturday of the great insulation fiasco.
Nothing prepared me for that.
It began at 5:30 in the morning as hubby prepped for a run to Home Depot. He had decided to use blow in insulation and the store rented the blowers on a first come, first served basis. At least he didn’t camp out. The day before, he came home with several bales of insulation and had several bags of recovered insulation from the demolition of the old ceiling. So all that was needed was the blower.
He was in place at 6:00 a.m. when the doors opened. The rest of the world was waiting for Avenger: The Endgame tickets. Hubby had to get an insulation blower! Needless to say, he scored his prize. For the record, many moviegoers left disappointed when shows were sold out.
At home, he had everything set up and ready to go by 7:30. Enter me. My job was to turn the blower on and off, while he directed the flow. I was stationed outside by the blower, he was several feet away in the area where the dining room meets the kitchen.
At the first “OK”, things went fairly well. It became necessary to mush the insulation into the blower which required turning off, mushing, and turning it back on. My job started to get complicated.
Hubby, meanwhile, was on a ladder. Dressed in long sleeves, jeans, goggles and a N95 mask, he was hoisting the blower hose into the ceiling. He’d yell or hand signal me. I would handle the blower switch. Seems like it should work well…
The insulation is quite puffy like dry snow. As the blower blew, the ceiling blew back. Insulation went in, insulation came out and flew everywhere. As we moved to spaces in between the rafters, the procedure repeatedly produced a blizzard of insulation all over the kitchen and dining area. Eventually, hubby moved over far enough that I could neither see nor hear him. (Remember, I’m next to a blower). So I stuck my head in the door to get a visual on him.
This also increased the time for me to get back to and turn off the blower creating white out conditions and a hubby screaming “STOP “ and making “stop” gestures violently.
By the time all was said and done…
My kitchen and everything in it, covered or not, was coated in insulation. I am working on restoring that a bit at a time. Washing every dish, fork, knife, etc until I regain my kitchen (uninsulated).
My hubby looked like a steam punk yeti with the googles and mask. He was coated with insulation making his hair not only grey, but puffy too. The sweatshirt and jeans blended into one another. He looked every bit the B rated movie prop. Since he’s always cold, it may not have been a bad idea.
The dog will never leave the bedroom again.
As for me, well, the blower blew and churned in this open top hooper. Did I mention that we had sustained breezes of 14 mph? I learned to hold my breath for extended periods of time. I could pearl dive now with no problem. However, I am still sneezing up insulation.
The story SHOULD end there. But the blower had too go back to Home Depot…in my car. My driver’s seat is now insulated from hubby’s wardrobe. The headrest is insulated from his hair. I refuse to look in the back. I just won’t do it until I’ve had a chance to stop hacking up grey matter and have had sufficient wine to stabilize the emotional impact of more insulation.
Bob Villa made it look so easy.