The Summer of the Cowboy Shower

It's a funny story. And by "funny" I mean only in retrospect when we are completely removed from the nightmare by a good month or so.

But I should probably start at the beginning.

This was our bathtub when we moved in almost 6 months ago:

Lovely, yes? Call us naive but we believed a bucket of tub enamel paint would fix that puppy right up until some distant point in time when we would have the money to overhaul the bathroom. Ahem. We were very wrong.

We were also in trouble.

Because two weeks after we moved in, the tub's equally "lovely" neighbor: the shower, decided to rain down into the kitchen below.

(On a side note, I can't believe I ever stepped into that nastiness with the intent to get clean. Ick. Granted, I did have my eyes closed the entire time.)

For good measure, I'll throw in a picture of the sink, too. I like to be thorough. Technically, there was nothing wrong with the sink. Except for the broken faucet. Or the hideously ancient lights that practically begged for an electrical fire.

Oh wait. Since I seem to be in a sharing mood, you have to see the floor, too. And my favorite fire hazard: the electric wall heater that was original with the 73 year old house. The thing had so many fried wires I'm astounded we were ever cleared for insurance.

Now you can see why this is a funny story in retrospect.

And so began what will forever be known in this house as The Summer of the Cowboy Shower because the only remaining facility in which to bathe was the kitchen sink.

The Summer of the Cowboy Shower lasted 121 days. And yes. We were counting. Did I mention that those 121 days coincided with marathon training? So convenient.

Our summer involved frequently commandeering the in-laws' bathtub & shower.

And many evenings of putting our girls to bed in a state of questionable cleanliness.

And a lot of hard work...

Call me crazy, but I declare this an outstanding improvement:

Reason # 3,214 why I love my mother: she knows how to lay tile (a little talent she picked up in Gabon) and owns her own diamond saw. My mother: the jack-of-all-trades.

The vanity did not go up the stairs willingly. Thankfully we had some muscle to get the job done. Their services are available for a small fee. Or bake goods. They'll both work for baked goods.

In the end, this was our reward:

Thus endeth The Summer of the Cowboy Shower. And there was much rejoicing.