Always meant to be mine.

The process could not have been more frustrating.

It started on Saturday. My Dad and I went to get a sander, went back to my house, and started to get to work. The room I wanted to work on in particular has a wood floor that’s been painted green and white in a checkerboard pattern.

Maybe the previous homeowners played chess on the floor?

Anyway, I was excited to start on this room. Except we ran into one little slight problem.

The sander didn’t even touch the paint on the floor.

And then my shop vac didn’t work. And then I went to get another shop vac and got a ticket in the process (oops).

It was not a good day.

It turns out that the sander we got worked really well for the other small bedroom in my house. We got that room ready to go, all nice and smooth, and took the sander back.

At that point, I wasn’t planning on staining. The wood was beautiful enough that I just wanted to varnish it.

There’s one little catch. I decided to have a party over the weekend.

Meaning, there can’t be two queen sized beds and box springs in my kitchen, there can’t be kitchen chairs in my bathroom, and there can’t be nightstands and dressers blocking my hallway.

Once we got another sander, the process went a little smoother.  It was still frustrating. I mean, what color do you think sawdust is from a green floor?

It’s all over my house.

Not to mention, I ripped six sheets of sandpaper with the second sander. I was angry. I was angry enough that I didn’t want to see that stupid sander again, so I hauled it out to the curb next to the truck I was using.

I thought I could lift it out of anger. Get out of my house, stupid sander! I never want to see you again!

The thing is, though, that I couldn’t lift it.

So I sat in the back of the truck, by myself, watching the cars go by. What people in the cars saw was a very sweaty woman in her pajamas covered in sawdust. Just, you know, hanging out until help came.

That was also not a good day.

But let me tell you about the day that was eventually good.

I went to a paint store to get stain the next day. I took a sample of laminate with me because I wanted to match the color (in the rest of my house, the previous homeowners put laminate on top of hardwood.).

I thought I picked out the stain color perfect. But they wouldn’t let me buy it. They told me they were going to custom mix the color for me. They said they’d call when the stain was ready.

A few hours later, they called and I went to look at the stain.

It was beautiful!

I went home and started staining.

I started in one corner of the room. After a small section was on, I stopped and looked at it. I wasn’t really impressed. But I kept on going, and when I got about a third of the room done, I stopped and looked at it.

It was beautiful. Like, I wanted to weep.

I love wood that has a slight hint of red in it. The stain they custom made for me matched what I wanted perfectly.

It’s so beautiful, I can’t believe it’s mine.

My house buying process was messy. But when I was staining and seeing the potential in my house, I kept thinking something.

This house was always meant to be mine.

Pretty, right?

Getting to work.

Look at those pretty floors!

The other bedroom. Pretty!

Same shot as above, put with stain.

Ta da!

Pretty.