When last we met, I left you with the image of a bathroom stripped naked (so appropriate in a bathroom), a new floor that had completely blocked the attic door, and deeply traumatized hardwood floors due to my excessive eagerness to move a heavy armoire.

Things looked dire.

But SIL Beau was not to be deterred. He put on his contractor cape or hat, whichever, and got to work.

First he found Julio, a skilled bathroom rebuilder to (duh) rebuild the bathroom.

And he and Richard removed the offending door, cut it off and rehung it to swing freely.

I called the flooring people to come put in the moldings and would they please repair my damaged floor? They said yes.

All good, right. Not so fast, bucko.

The first bathroom guy had not turned off the water in the bath completely because it would have turned off the water to the whole house. But there was a tiny, miniscule drip-drip-drip coming from one pipe. He had put a bucket under it.

It was such a tiny drip.

But eventually it overflowed the bucket and drip-drip-dripped through the floor, and sought it’s own level, as water is wont to do, over the sofa in my den. We caught it before it actually began to drip-drip-drip through the ceiling, but the damage had been done and the ceiling would need repair.

Speaking of repairs, the floor guys were able to repair the floor so that no one would ever know, except for all my children, Beau, Richard, and the floor guys. Everyone really enjoyed this.

Julio did a great job. He framed, taped, bedded, plumbed, tiled. . . everything. And it all got done.

I hired a friend, John, to do the painting. He has experience and it showed. He was meticulous. And he was able to repair the stained ceiling downstairs.

I even got the 1962 tub refinished.

And I was able to start unpacking boxes, moving furniture (with suitably padded feet, geez), and ordering mattresses (the others were ancient and rock hard), a sofa bed, rugs, a chair, anyway, a lot of stuff. And things began to come together.

Just in time for Adam and Corey to move in. And since then daughter Erin has been here, too.

And I was proud for them to stay in my new space. One side is a French inspired bedroom and the other is a bastion of honey oak where I have my desk and a comfortable, colorful lounge area. And with my blow-up mattress, I can sleep five now.

Why honey-oak, you ask? Well, in the 80s, it was my style of choice and my dad was a talented furniture craftsman (also a metallurgical engineer–an amazing amalgamation of a left and right brain.) Anyway, he made several pieces for me and for my mother (which I inherited.) I still love them and decided that all the honey-oak should live forever in my office/lounge, where they will be happy.

So the saga of the upstairs comes to a close. Not a never-ending story after all, Just a happily-ever-after one.