I wanted floors, so bad. It seemed like it was taking forever to get the frame painted and the insulation installed. When we finally put the first piece of floor in, I was ecstatic. Truthfully, that first moon-shaped piece was put in 3 times. The first time was just to see if it was going to work. It was hammered into place, vibrating my windows, making me nervous, but it fit. It was taken out so that I could seal it. The piece was sealed and dried and ready to go, so back in it went. Hammered into place again just for Dad to freak out that he didn’t know where the frame rails were underneath – how was he going to bolt it down!?! He seriously freaked, total ‘come apart’ as we call it. I tried my best to diffuse the situation and tell him it was going to be alright. “I have pictures, we can figure it out.” Not good enough. He was mad and was going to hammer the (insert your favorite curse word here) back out – again. I tried to stop this by holding on to the hammer and not giving it to him, I threatened bodily harm if he broke one of my windows because he was pissed off. I lost the battle and the floor was out again, frame was marked and floor was put back in for the final time. I survived the first Come-Apart and so did Blanche. We stopped for the day, drank a beer and all was good.
The next weekend my brother was over cleaning up my parents yard. A few weeks back there had been some bad weather (ice) and many tree limbs didn’t make it. Blanche is more important than picking up tree limbs, so he was burning the limbs as we worked on installing the rest of the floor. He asked if he could take the old floor to the burn pile. Now, my Dad has been beyond adamant that nothing be thrown away. So I knew it was a big step when he allowed us to remove the old floor and burn it. It was so great, it signified that the floor was finally done! I felt like I could finally breath, I feel that everything else will move much faster. The biggest hurdle was done.