It seems like such a good idea when I'm lying in bed staring at the ceiling. I look up at the outline of where the closet had been. I see the damage of the torn-asunder drywall plugs - the drilled screw holes, the decimated drywall. Why had it been bothering me so much? Yes, there were 43 holes in the wall of various sizes, but I had spackle - it could be fixed! I had this! I leap from the bed with vigor.
"I've figured out what I'm going to do today!" I share with David.
"I am going to spackle our bedroom ceiling and wall!" I can barely contain myself - this was going to be great.
"Fantastic idea!! I think I know where the drop sheets are. I'll go grab them for you."
I don't know why, but my vigor wanes a titch at the word 'drop sheets.' I shake it off. No worries! I am set to go! I grab the spackling tools in one hand and bend down to lift up the spackling tub...
You know when you expect something of a certain size to weigh a certain weight? My shoulder isn't dislocated, per se, but my old shoulder separation does sing out an operatic "WHAT THE FUCK!?!?" I look down at the container. 16 kgs... I do some quick math in my head... double it plus a bit - so that sucker weighs in at a whopping 36 lbs - ish. I just tried to pick up a toddler with one hand. My other hand is still full of spackling tools. "David!!! Would you mind grabbing the spackle for me?"
"Not a problem." He shoves three drop sheets into my waiting arm, (why would I need three drop sheets?) and hefts the spackling into the bedroom. "You okay? Do you want me to....?"
"Nope! I'm good! I've got this!! You go ahead."
David heads downstairs to hook up the sink in the 1/2 bath. We are the King and Queen of dividing and conquering - we are going to get so much done!
So one drop sheet goes over the headboard and the bedside tables and then the other one goes on top of the bed... I look around at the outline of the old closet which buts up to the temporary curtains that close off the new closet... I guess that the other drop sheet should cover the clothing rail to protect the clothes from drywall dust...
That's when the panic hits. Sure, now, for the next hour or so I would be scraping old nasty bits off the wall, and then I would be layering the spackling over the damaged areas... but after that... after that... the spackle would have to be sanded. I lie down on the bed. We were going to make drywall dust. Lots and lots of drywall dust. In the bedroom. I was going to have to move all the furniture out and all the clothing... but the carpet would still be on the floor! Could I carefully rip out the carpet so that it could be relaid?
"How you doing?" David asks from the doorway.
I look over, the whites of my eyes gleaming in panic - I'm hyperventillating a bit.
"Whoa! Whoa!! It's okay!"
"NO! No, it's not!!! There is going to be dust all over this room!! Everything's going to have to come out!!! Where are we going to put it?!? Maybe we could lay all the clothes over the bookcase in Rissa's room..."
"Heather! WHOA!! We're not going to sand today!"
"We're not?" I sniffle.
"No. No sanding. We're just filling holes today and then later, in the summer, we'll smooth out everything..."
I lose focus, because I'm looking at the 43 holes in the wall and ceiling. Smooth everything out?? SMOOTH EVERYTHING OUT?!? We were going to have to use an entire tub of spackling to fill those areas, how in God's name were we going to smooth it out?
"Heather!" In the 1940's drama version of this scenario - David gives me a sharp slap across the face.
"It's okay," I say. "It's good. It's all good." I take a deep breath. "I've got this."
"Oh yeah, no problem."
2 hours later, I have done a rough plaster coat over the entire bedroom wall. Sure, there was only damage to an 8 foot by 8 foot area, but by rough plastering the entire wall - I have ensured that the wall NEVER has to be sanded. The ceiling, yes, but we can put sheets down and can tape plastic around the closet to protect the clothing and it is, after all, low-dust drywall compound. Panic folks, it's the mother of invention.