That meant sanding. Heavy duty sanding.
We put in a few hours the first night after the girls went to bed. We knew we were making progress when we'd empty the dust collector. Mercifully, the sander had a vacuum attached so a majority of the dust was contained.
I started bright and early but it didn't take long for the whirring to wake up the kids. It's not child labor if it isn't forced, right?
(In case anyone's panicking and about to nominate me for Worst Mother of the Year, the machine wasn't actually on. Promise).
When Evelyn could barely walk across it without slipping and falling, it was finished. We went through several sheets of expensive sandpaper but it was all in the name of household beauty.
The final debate: stain or no stain. I'm not a fan of pale, jaundiced-looking pine flooring so I selected a light oak, promising myself I would not return to the store should I abhor the color.
It turned out looking nothing like the can claimed. I gritted my teeth, sent picture messages to my mom and sister and decided . . .
There were a few touch ups with some latex caulking that dries clear, but that was minor compared to what that wood has already been through.
Anything would look better than what it did, no?