For the past few days, we've been working away. The dining room is painted. The Mud Room is cleared out and sanded. Yippee.
The Southern fellow came back a few days ago and finished up the carpet on the stairs. It looks OK. When he was finished, he invited me to take a look at his work. I checked it all out and said it was adequate. Once he got approval, he said, almost shyly and in a super southern accent, "Can you let me know how to get to the nearest hospital?"
I was a little surprised and obviously asked if he was OK.
"Well, I didn't want to bother you, but I cut myself pretty bad on a nail."
After saying that, he held up his left hand, which had hilarious blue painter's tape wrapped around his ring finger. I looked pretty funny, as there was a lot of it. Also funny because he wrapped his probably bleeding finger in painter's tape.
I let him know where the hospital is, thanked him and he was on his way.
Since the carpet was installed, Amanda and I decided that last night would be a great night to move our bed upstairs. It's a king sized bed, so it's very big. The stairway to the second floor isn't as big.
We basically had to fold the mattress like a comfortable taco shell to make it fit into the stairway:
When we finally yanked on it enough and shoved it around for ten minutes, it was time to lift it up onto the landing. Since I was doing the pulling, I was already on the landing, leaving Amanda down the stairs, shoving on it.
While I was pulling up on the mattress, a sharp bellow of pain quickly rose up the stairs. Amanda had apparently pushed up, leaned back a little bit, and almost impaled herself on one of the hand rail supports. Luckily, they're pretty blunt, so she'll only have a huge bruise, rather than a huge gash.
The rail supports can be seen in this picture (taken pre-carpet installation). Ouch.
At another point during the struggle, Amanda made a little noise, stopped shoving and said, "Um. My face is stuck."
Sure enough, the top of the mattress, which was slowly rising, had leveraged itself underneath her jaw, essentially pinning her face to the wall behind her. It was just hilarious. She was cracking up, and so was I. All of this laughing led to her face being stuck for even longer, because while laughing, our muscles don't work so well.
When we collected ourselves, we finally got the stupid thing onto the landing, slid it into the bedroom, vacuumed a little bit, and put the bed down.
We now sleep upstairs like adults.