In my jeans-bag today, I carried, several invoices, a power drill, a box of drill bits, a small saw, a piece of Gyprock (plasterboard) that I'd scrounged from someone else's building site, a saw guide thingy, my purse my phone, keys and doggy poo bags.
I had a call from the cabinet maker as we were leaving for the school run, then another from the tiler just after the bell rang. Try discussing logistics with a Tradie while about 100 noisy kids are racing past you from assembly.
In my capacity as a building project manager I was to be on-site on my 'tod' today after meeting with the cabinet designer to measure up and choose granite and laminates. Yesterday I'd played hopscotch all over Sydney, picking up bathroom fixtures, ordering basins, buying tap mixers, trawling warehouses and collecting samples.
I made it back in time to pick Pinkster up from school, settle her with her French Coach and then set off again to take the trash out on our building site.
Today I was a bit lost. I get like that sometimes - there's so much to do I loose my focus. But the tiler had to put all his efforts into another job so it was time for me to sort out the bathroom ceiling before the wall tiles made it to the top.
There was a hole from the old light fitting and some plaster patchwork that had to be tidied up, and it all needs to be painted before the tiler gets back on the job.
So that was my afternoon; after gathering, buying and packing more supplies and equipment - screwing on wardrobe board handles (except one broke) I patched and sanded a bathroom ceiling. This process is not unlike doing porcelain fingernails (if you've ever done your own). You need to slap on the product over the gaps before it hardens, wait for it to fully dry, sand it back, then fill in with more product and sand again.
Except this is a really big bloody fingernail and it's above my head, which is pretty disastrous for my poor neck, having had one too many whip-lashes. Note to self: must make a booking with the chiropractor for Saturday to work out the cricks in my neck.
The tiler called tonight (while I was executing a bottie-wipe) full of apologies, because the other job is running behind. I made his day at least, when I said I needed another day for sanding and painting the ceiling. Incidentally in my spare time, I am trying to do my best as a single parent (Mr Frenchie is still in the US) and I'm three quarters of the way through writing a best seller. (I hope). I could just do with a few more hours in my day.
Pretty much everyone else is happy. Including my chiropractor who can probably order his next Porsche going by the state of my C2 vertebrae.
|Still loving my tool bag :0)|