Although the majority of our renovations center around the kitchen/dining room area, we also plan on doing something (we don’t know what) to the bathroom. I’ve always hated this wallpaper — too cutesy country, with a bunny ‘n’ basket border.
A couple weeks ago my 4-year old found a small little loose bubble along the seam. Doing what most 4-year olds would tend to do, he pulled until he had loosened a great big flap of wallpaper. His brother, of course, noticed in good time and wasted no time hopping in the Tattlemobile. I thought about giving my youngest son permission to keep going until all the ugly stuff was stripped off. That wouldn’t be child labor, would it? I mean, he’s my own son, and he loves me, and I’d be giving him permission to do something that he thought was naughty.
Then I remembered that once the old stuff was off, I had to figure out what to replace it with (and scrape off the scrappies, etc.), so I told my son he did a very bad thing, and sent him off to play.
Underneath the wallpaper exists pink paint. When I saw that, my mind started thinking “Cool retro pink bathroom!” And that would be entirely possible, but the plastic tile isn’t pink. It’s burgundy with a black border. Although I’m aware that a 50s bathroom may very well mix burgundy, pink, and black, it doesn’t seem to fit here. Now the question remains: what’s underneath this floor?
White tile? Pink tile? No tile at all?
Later, because my husband expects me to be neurotic about what’s original in this house, I am going to find out. I’ve got a crowbar, and I know how to use it.
And if it turns out to be old tile with possible asbestos, then expect me to do exactly what a did about 7 years ago to an entryway: rip said tile out without a care. This is what you get from a new homeowner so focused on a task that the possibility of asbestos did not exist.
To this day, I’m not sure if that tile DID have asbestos in it. Let’s just say that if it was there, then this blog may run for a shorter time than originally planned.
I really hate having the A/C on 24/7, but I do so for my husband’s sleeping comfort and for the kids. Oh, all right, I guess I don’t exactly want to be sleeping in a room clogged with 80% humidity, either. But it makes me feel like such a wuss. It’s almost as I can hear one of my Swedish ancestors while he shakes his head, muttering “WE didn’t have air conditioning when we lived in the log cabin, and we survived just fine.” 
