Adventures in Flooring

There came a moment, one morning during the four-day span when I became a tried-and-true flooring contractor, when I thought I would die. My joints had apparently developed a severe hatred of one another, and were doing whatever it took to separate, with prejudice. My fingernails were snagged and broken. Thick blisters dotted the insides of my hands, just below where my fingers meet my palm. They were now curled inward, and my knuckles were swollen and arthritic. As I stared at the ceiling, trying not to move, I’d wonder if my wrists would give out again when I tried to push myself into a standing position.

But I wasn’t worried. There was one thing that would cure me: A hot shower. And not just regular hot. Restorative showers must be sweltering hot to do any good. And that week when I installed the floors in all three bathrooms, the master closet and the laundry room, my  showers were skin-reddening, toe-curling, pass-out-from-the-steam hot.

When I limped into the house the morning after finishing the guest bathroom, The Big C was sympathetic.

“See?” he said. “Now you know why I told you to never trust a contractor that doesn’t drink. Only two things dull the pain: hot showers and alcohol.”

So enough about my pain. On to the work.

Over Thanksgiving break, I started with the guest bathroom. We chose a waterproof vinyl product for all of the wet areas in the house (except the kitchen): Konecto. It’s very easy to install, and perfect for old houses because it’s a floating floor. The vinyl makes it flexible — so the floor doesn’t have to be perfectly level, the way it does if you’re installing tile. It’s not cheap, but if you install it yourself then it evens out with tile. Plus, I am irrationally anti-tile. It’s cold and slippery and that’s that.

Anyway. On to the photos.

The first few rows

Everyone should install flooring wearing slip-ons

Done! The flash makes the room look like a ball of sunshine, doesn't it?

You cut Konecto with a box cutter. First you score it a few times, then you snap the plank.

We're putting a pedestal sink in here, so I didn't have to cut the holes individually, like I did in other rooms. And by "I" I mean "The Big C."

It's not real wood, but it plays wood on TV.

After that job was finished, I was euphoric — completely unaware of the crippling physical misery I’d be in the next morning. But a million winces and one hot shower later, I tackled the girls’ bathroom.

The girls' bathroom, before the subfloor was down.

The Big C with his ever-present pencil, laying down the subfloor.

In progress

Done!

Next up was the master closet and laundry room. I helped The Big C lay down the subfloor. He let me use the power staple gun. It was really cool, even if he made me wear safety goggles. Sorry I can’t show you how bad-ass I looked; I didn’t have the guts to ask him to take my picture using it.

I also failed to take good “before” pictures, so you’ll have to be satisfied with the “afters.”

Full boxes of Konecto are off to the left.

Finally came the master bathroom. I was under the gun with this one, since we had a house full of family and friends working their tails off with the intent to do a major, necessary project: Move the massive bathroom vanity from the first floor to the second floor. And they couldn’t do that without a bathroom floor.

So I worked like a madwoman to get it finished.

Keeping the floor clean as you work is really important, so the Shop Vac is our bestest buddy.

This lovely curved corner was a total bitch to make perfect. But I did. 🙂

I am dismayed to admit that I was so exhausted by the time I was finished with the master bathroom that I failed to take “after” pictures. But you can sort of see what it looks like by looking at the process of moving our Pottery Barn vanity into the space. Yes, we are “those people.” The kind who buy Pottery Barn furniture online like we’re all fancy and stuff. If it makes you feel any better, that’s the only piece we bought from Pottery Barn — and the marble top was broken during shipping. The universe has punished us for our high-falutin’ ways.

My camera-shy brother-in-law, Andrew

The middle (we taped the doors so they wouldn't fly open)

My father-in-law, hoping this isn't a hernia-in-progress.

In place, sans broken marble top.

I couldn’t have done the flooring without The Big C, and he has paid me a few quiet compliments on my work since our week of working side-by-side on the house. The Plaster Wizards were amazed I did it all by myself, and said they want me to come and install Konect in their houses. The Big C scratched his chin and said, “Tiling wasn’t your thing, but you might just make it as a flooring contractor.”

It made me feel great to hear that, but here’s the truth of the matter: There aren’t enough hot showers in the world to make it happen.