Drywalling

It’s a thankless job.  To all of the professional drywallers out there–cheers!  People who drywall for a living have my utmost respect because they can whip out a room in no time, whereas it takes me weeks.  I am to drywalling what Rickie Weeks is to baseball.  Anyways, I just finished texturing the ceiling for the nursery.  I’ve come a long way in the past couple years from my first attempt (our cross wall) until now.  I didn’t bomb the floor with unnecessary slop.  I wasn’t covered in mud, only splattered.  I finally figured out the right consistancy to get a good texture while minimizing mess.  And yes, I textured by hand.  By the time I could borrow a texture gun, hook up the air compressor, spray, then clean it all, I would be done.  It only took me an hour.  That’s pretty cool.

So where’s the fun?  Sarah was helping me mix mud–adding water, mixing, filling my pan so I could keep at it.  It was good, non-stress time.  The funny-ness happened when it came time to clean up.  I picked up the putty knives to scrape them off, and the handles were covered in mud.  I pride myself in a clean operation, which is why I’m a teacher and not a construction worker.  But I’ve gotten the hang of mudding without getting crap all over the handles.  Sarah, on the other hand, was like a kid in a sandbox, sitting there cross legged with a smile, talking away.  “Sorry,” she smiled as I chuckled outside to the hose.  Fun image.  The best part is, I’m done with the ceiling and there weren’t any fights about it.  Halelujah!

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