(1) I was bored with it, and
(2) I was traumatized by it.
You see, the floor was damaged.
It looked to me like they spilled some sort of thick, sticky, black motor oil on it, and then tried to clean it up with a number of various and strong spot removers, failing to completely remove the spot and damaging the flooring.
Of course, this is only what it looks like to me. I did not see anything happen. One day I walked down and a worker was on his knees with paper towels and my window cleaner, going over the entire floor. This was an uncharacteristic move at an unexplained point in the process. Soon after--that evening or the next day--I noticed the black spot. Shawn noticed some bottles of "Spot Remover" sitting around. I got most of the spot out myself, using baking soda and dish detergent. But a few days later, that piece of flooring was coming apart.
We asked them about it, and of course they knew nothing.
Have I told you before how afraid I am of these people? I am absolutely terrified, because whenever he makes a mistake, the one guy gets mad at me. So this issue, this was beyond what I was prepared to confront in every way, shape and form.
I emailed the flooring company, but I am sure that they will say it isn't covered because of some loophole: improper installation, or inappropriate cleaning methods. And even if it is covered, they will refund the cost of the materials. Period. I don't want some money back. I want a functional kitchen floor. I want the project over and my house back. This piece of flooring is smack in the middle of the room. And they installed the flooring all the way to the walls, and then installed the cabinets over it. So to replace this one piece of flooring would require tearing out the entire kitchen. Literally.
I do not have it in me even to consider doing what it would take to replace that plank.
When I first saw the damaged plank, I felt like I had been kicked in the gut by someone wearing spiked cowboy boots. I started to shake. I felt guilty, as though I had done it, and I thought I was going to vomit.
I prayed, and after awhile God helped me to realize two things:
- This is not my fault. I did not do it. Scrubbing a black spot with baking soda and dish detergent did not make my new floor come apart.
- OK. My brand new floor is coming apart before my kitchen is even finished, and this is a sad thing, but it does not reflect a moral failing on my part. It is not a moral failing. I did not sin.
Online, I found an adhesive that looked promising. I went to my local Ace Hardware, and they had it, in stock, for a fraction of the online price. I bought a trial tube and brought it home. Shawn and I tested it on some extra flooring we had lying around, and it worked great. God is good and His mercies are everlasting. Tonight we plan to patch up our damaged floor--ourselves--and pray again, prayers of both supplication and thanksgiving.
On other fronts, they put in our stove, dishwasher and microwave. The microwave is especially nice to have. Now we can heat up leftovers from the crockpot (or a restaurant!). Additionally, we have new paint, and I love the color, a very soft, understated yellow that is cheery and light. I had no idea the color could make the room look this new and uplifting.
Another bright note: the counter people measured for the counters today, well ahead of the recently expected schedule.
It has been a long, harsh winter and a long, dusty construction project. Many times I've thought of Narnia under the reign of the white witch: always winter and never Christmas. But then there appeared holly berries and the trickling sounds of melting ice. . . Aslan was on the move.
In my real life, I see God on the move. And I am glad.