I was raised, as most of us were, believing in the American dream, that home ownership was the end all goal that everyone must attain to. That is why we got a job, and why we went to work everyday. The ability to buy a house signified success and some how freedom.

But for me it was more than a goal, I dreamed about it, no I really did dream about it. I wanted a space to transform. We began shopping for a house. The dream began to have a life of it’s own. It became an obsession.

I had taken design, architecture, and art classes in college and was a very visual learner, so I began the first of many “idea books”.  How to books began to fill my bookcase.

Thanks to the GI bill, we bought our first fixer upper, and while my husband was at worked I set out to renovate my first house. My dad was a builder and I had seen him transform many a space. It looked so easy.

My first major project was the bathroom. The house had lots of character, perhaps a little to much because the previous home owner had gotten very creative with the use of carpet tile. Who in their right mind would use it on the walls surrounding a bathtub? Perhaps the word “tile” confused them.

Short on money and long on time, I set out to do as much of this project my self as I could. How hard could it be?  Right?

Off to the hardware store where I bought a sunset book on tile installation,  ceramic tiles off the clearance shelf,  glue, grout and the all so important tile splitter.

Removing the moldy carpet tiles was easy but with them came a lot of the plaster, revealing the lath and wire of the old walls…. I cleverly patched up the holes with layers of a product called wall patch, treated with mildew protection and proceeded to install the tile.

You won’t believe what happened a couple years latter while cleaning the bath tub.

Whoops! Dry wall mud or “wall patch” was not apparently the right product.