There is probably some conventional wisdom that says undertaking a major home improvement party two days before hosting a major Christmas party is flirting with disaster. Hell, it isn't just flirting; it's answering the door wearing nothing but a bow around your neck and a smile.
So we decided to replace the godawful carpet with laminate flooring, you know, the fake wood that looks like real wood but doesn't dent as badly. Sure, Bernie the flooring guy says, it will be in on Wednesday. No problem, Danny the contractor says, I can have it laid by the end of Friday. So far Danny is keeping his end of the bargain quite admirably. By the end of day 1 he had everything covered except for a couple of planks at the end of the hall and maybe one more in the hall closet. Nothing left to do, really, except put in the quarter-round molding. Here comes the problem. The old guy driving the forklift at the flooring company warehouse allegedly told someone at Bernie's showroom that the quarter-round would, in fact, have to be back ordered. Somehow that crucial bit of information didn't get passed along to us. It's supposed to come in today, but no one's quite sure when that will be.
Meanwhile, Danny and the boys were supposed to hit the house at 9:00 this morning. Of course, the furniture can't be moved back until the molding's in, nor can the walls be dusted, or Christmas decorations applied to every flat surface. Perhaps the girlfriend can set them to work cleaning up dog poo in the back yard while they wait for the elusive quarter-round to arrive.
Aaaaaaaand we still have upwards of 60 people slated to hit the cozy abode starting at 4:00 tomorrow. One kid is sick and exhausted from the end-of-school-term test and project crush, and the other is only with us half time anyway. So we are looking for some happy convergence of (1) floor being finished, (2) kids being home at the same time and (3) having the energy to buy and decorate a tree and (4) grocery shopping getting done and (5) party food being prepared. Will it all come together, or will we collapse into separate puddles of sobbing goo? Stay tuned.