"Let's just live on plywood." I was joking when I suggested this to my husband an hour ago, but I'm secretly wondering if we'll EVER get our flooring ordered and installed. I've been to six different businesses in the last three weeks, met three installers at the house to measure for themselves the house (even though I had handed them blueprints that were measured down to the sixteenth inch), picked out carpet after carpet, vinyl after vinyl, and laminate after laminate until I could hardly remember what the samples from each store looked like. I kept thinking that each new place I visited would be a breath of fresh air, that I'd feel good about ordering from them. The whole process has been miserable, infuriating, disheartening. Last Friday, I called Hubby on the verge of tears and told him I couldn't handle any more!
Now, my husband is amazing, personable, caring, and brilliant in his career. When it comes to helping me out with my responsibilities, he tends to pretty much leave me to figure things out and get my jobs done. Friday, however, he became my knight in shining armor, telling me that we'd figure this out and that he'd take over the phone calls and deciphering of flooring quotes for a while. He must have done a great job of consoling me, because I was convinced that we'd have flooring ordered by Monday morning. It's now a week later, and we're no closer to sorting the mess out than we were. I'm getting closer and closer to forgetting that numbers aren't adding up correctly, ignoring that I'm being told one thing and getting something different, and just ordering the flooring from whichever place I pull from a hat. BUT... the last time I settled in order to done with the headache, my punishment was loosing my daughter for 6 straight weeks every summer. I don't want to pay for another exasperated decision for years to come.