My husband decided to tackle a significant home improvement project.  After seven years with the same used-to-be-beige carpet that came with our new home, he is installing tile.  That news in itself won’t shake the earth, but I don’t have to help. At all.  Between us, I’m the only one with any tiling credits,  having tiled a  large floor and two hearths.  But on this undertaking, I get to be OUT.   I love that man.

Actually he said he didn’t want my help and muttered something about my not getting in his way.  He tends to stare at things long before proceeding with a task.  I tend to whack things with a hammer to see if they will break.

But out is out, and I’m delighted to hold up my end of this bargain.

We spent the good part of a month selecting the tile.  We brought home many samples to leave laying around, to see which ones we still loved after a few days.  Surprisingly few.  We decided on travertine, twice, and realized, twice, that we weren’t the sort of people that want a floor that’s fussier than we are.

We allow only one high-maintenance entity in our home.  I claimed that turf years ago.

Since we we’re going to rip up the floors, we decided to put in a new sink and cabinet in the guest bath while-we’re-er-he’s at it.  Plus new sconces, baseboard, and oh-let’s-add-another outlet while the wiring is gutted.

He’s only tiled the small bathroom so far and has about 760 sq ft of floor to go.  Ever the artist, he’s studied dozens of You-tube videos and decided on 12″ field tiles, laid in a diagonal pattern, with a brick border inlay, and then more of the field tile up to the wall. Whew.  I would have laid down 40″ tiles, in a grid, if they made them that big.

Should be lovely when we’re, er, he’s finished.  Ahh. The only rule, I can’t dictate a schedule.  This is entirely opposed to both my vocation and nature, but a small price to pay for being out.

Count me in.