A floor. . .

Truly the only thing between me and true comfort in this home. We have very unique floors. Heat coils have been hidden under a layer of poured cement to keep our feet warm in the chilly seasons. Well aware of the cold, industrial look of grey concrete, Aidan and I spent a wee bit extra to have a rich brown tint blended into the original mixture. The first day we saw it we were overjoyed at the result. Our floors looked as edible as milk chocolate:


Truly the best we could have hoped for. But days later we returned to find that it had settled back into a pale grey.

What this means for my day-to-day life, as a housewife, is that I have to contend with sticky dust at every turn. It coats everything we own. Because the colour is wrong, we haven't sealed the floors. And unsealed cement does not stay clean. It holds onto dust like velcro. The furniture is dusty, the beds are dusty. Our socks are black. And, housekeeping aside, grey doesn't fit with the colour scheme.

It has been a few months of half-hearted phone calls to the cement company, but we finally struck a deal with them. They will both pay for, and apply, a tinted sealer to our floors. It should bring the colour back out and be suitable for living. As just as this is, we are now faced with the monumental task of lifting the paint and drywall plaster off the floors before the company sends a man out.


Long nights ahead.