Sanding the floors upstairs. Geesh, what a pain. But with floor paint costing what it does, I figured I'd better do things to the best of my ability. We borrowed a sander thingy and a shop-vac from Katie and Chris (after sanding both bedrooms by hand, during which time Charoltte suffered a hideous and terrifying splinter through her palm. Less a splinter and more of a huge piece of very sharp wood three inches long. She was so brave, I took one look at it and started yelling for Keith, who performed surgery with his pocketknife while sweating bulletts and trying not to pass out. Charoltte didn't even swear in front of my kid!). Things went much quicker with the sanding machine, but my back is Killing Me after kneeling my way down the stairs, sanding as I went. I wanted to get the whole shebang vacuumed and mopped with TSP before calling it a night, but Delia got bored with her shelf painting job in 45 minutes and it was all downhill from there. If she and I have to spend very many more evenings working together, I might have to move the TV over so she can watch it when I run out of patience.