Extreme Physical Therapy

As you recall, on a previous post, I mentioned Hubby's Unfortunate Condition.  His infirmity that has brought on bed rest and being off his painful feet.  He was quite obedient and agreeable to nearly one week of this kind of Treatment.  Monday, as I was on a Mission of Mercy with Crazy Dee, Hubby put together all his extreme determination, and decided that he would put in our kitchen floor.  I had casually mentioned in bed a few nights previous, that I believed that I could install the floor myself.  My kind and sensitive Hubby refrained from the rank hysteria that he could have in imbibed in but instead became very quiet.  In retrospect, I imagine that he was figuring out how in this green world that he could get his poor, weak body out of bed and get the jump on his impetuous and inaccurate Wifey.  I believe he plotted and planned about the minute I was out the door on my MOM with CD.  I could see him weakly wishing me good bye and promising to feed himself lunch and maybe a sigh or two to affirm to me, that he was safe on his own for a bit.

Sucker.

By the time I got home, almost six hours later, I found him on the kitchen floor, crawling around pulling up our old kitchen linoleum tiles; island and all its contents on the dining room table.  This is no small feat.  There is electrical in the island and the Heaviest Cookware known to man in the drawers of the island.  This crazed man defended his actions by telling me, rather convincingly, that he wasn't on  his feet that much; that he was just crawling around, using his soon becoming flaccid biceps, to do the work.  I gotta admit that the LAST Thing I expected when I walked in the door that afternoon, was my kitchen completely torn apart in preparation for the new floor.  As things unraveled, Hubby admitted that he had been reflecting on how he and I could do this in time for my BIG EVENT at the end of July.  Of course, I referring to the First Annual mama's collection of Friends Crafting/Spiritual Retreat.  I am giddy with the thought of having those near and dear to me and to crafting, sharing my home for two and a half days, while we indulge in the craft and each other's company, sharing our skills and our need to know.  Having a needy kitchen floor did not truly dampen my preparation, but Hubby knowing me as well as he does, KNEW that it would mean a lot to me, if the floor was finished.

Thus the incredible push to wellness, or at least the appearance of such, that he took on this mammoth task.  To most, one would say, 'Well, according to the ads, Deb, this lock/install process is a snap!  What's the problem?'  My maiden name is Murphy and our philosophy is very similar to the very accurate Murphy's Law, 'if anything is going to go wrong, it will.'  Pulling up the tiles, Hubby could see that the underlayment, was indeed damaged by the water problems that popped the tiles.  Parts of the underlayment would have to come up.  Scratch that, ALL of the underlayment would have to come up.  And then, What's This??  Ooooo.  Water damage penetrated the nearly 100 year old original fir floor.  Yep.  You guessed it. A 4X8 section of this antique floor would have to come up as well.  And you see by the photos, we were hanging onto the floor joists, pulling up the planks, Hubby doing his best crawling/pulling, me doing the best bending, fetching, carrying/cleaning/all foot work and back work as dictated by The Boss.  Due to the intensity of the work and the infirmity of Hubby and the necessity of the work to a dead line, we completed this whole job without a cross word between us.  A miracle in and of itself.  Forty years of co laboring must have counted for something.  We both agreed that this might be the last floor that we put in.  It was a bit taxing on our old bods.  So your saying, 'So Deb, don't you have help?  Don't you have friends or family that could have helped up?'  To that I say, 'Of course!  We have several that have offered their help, nay their complete service to our Kitchen Floor Project, but compassionate man that Hubby is, he KNEW that trouble was brewing under that ol' floor and he was not going to ask anyone, especially a friend to invest that much time and labor into such a labor intensive project.  We actually had a fun time.  She says days later.

And as you can see in the last photo, All's Well That End's Well.

Hubby only had one day and a half back in quasi bed rest to recover.  So far.