What in the world possessed us to listen to a five year old four years ago when we were renovating our upstairs? At the time, Imani insisted she wanted carpet in her bedroom, despite the fact that we were installing hardwood floors throughout the rest of the upstairs.
Three years later, Imani came to the realization that, as always, her parents were right and she should have opted for hard wood. But Jason and I were firm in our decision NOT to change Imani's carpeting to hard wood, since we were planning to move.
A year later and confident in our decision to keep our Cape, we decided it was time to tear our the carpeting and install hard wood. In fact, our plans are to renovate Imani's room entirely.
Here is her room with the carpet and all of the toys, which I am determined to hide.
First, we cleared everything out of the room and put all of Imani's stuff in my room and in the upstairs bathroom.
And we began ripping up all of the carpet.
Jason laid down the special flooring paper and did all of his mathematical calculations to square up the room.
He headed off to buy a nail gun and air compressor. I think he feels all grown up and powerful now that we own one of these:
Finally (and on Father's Day), Jason began to lay the hard wood.
But not before a trip to the emergency room.
This trip was not because I was helping and accidentally shot a nail through my finger with the new nail gun (thank God, because that sounds quite painful).
Instead, it was due to something much more beautiful, but apparently equally as dangerous. Perhaps you remember this:
I really liked this vase and had changed out the Easter theme with a simple candle display. I was cleaning up the dining room after Imani and I made Jason a Father's Day breakfast. I accidentally bumped the big vase that was on the table and grabbed for it as it began to fall.
I caught it, but the glass literally broke off in my hand and continued to fall, taking a chunk of the pad of my finger along with it.
I hate to admit that in the split second the vase broke, my thought was, "Darn it; I love that vase!"
I resisted the urge to cry and snagged a dish towel to wrap around my bleeding finger. Whenever I get hurt, Imani FREAKS out and becomes hysterical, so I was determined to remain calm, even though it felt as if there was a hole in my finger.
"I'm fine, I promise" I assured her. "It's okay; it's just a small cut."
Meanwhile, I walked to the kitchen and whispered to Jason in my tiniest voice, "I think it cut out a chunk of my finger."
He assured me, it didn't.
And then . . . we heard Imani's voice from the dining room.
"Mom, there is a piece of your finger on the ground!!! I swear. Hurry up and get it."
Jason came to the rescue and picked up the piece of my finger so that we could go to the ER.
I assure you, dear reader, I am fine. After a tetanus shot and lots of bandages, I am okay. It took me a couple of days to be able to type, but all is good. I was a little sad that I couldn't help Jason start the floor on Father's Day.
But, it's looking great!
And my daughter always makes me smile.