Sanding... Sanding... More Sanding.

"Beau, I really like this baby furniture from Pottery Barn," your mother said.
"Send me a link, I will build it." I replied.

And so began the odyssey that is the baby furniture. Your Grandpa Ray and I are building all of the furniture for your room. Sometimes I question this. Today as I approached hour number seven of hand sanding was one of them. Don't take me wrong, I don't regret the decision one bit. In fact it's been great to spend some time at the shop with Dad. It's what us Jorgensens do to have bonding time. Building stuff is in our blood. Wood glue is in your Grandpa's blood because he eats it. Seriously, he licks it off his fingers like it's a sugar pop. He's a strange dude that way. To me it takes like a mix of drywall mud and flour... yeah I did get some in my mouth when I was drywalling the basement ceiling. It's not good. Neither is wood glue, and yes even your mom has been forced to try it.

Sanding is one of those unfortunate things in life that is critical to do, but is negative amounts of fun. Your first experience that will be comparable will be when your mom and I are slapping the holy bejesus out of you trying to get you to burp. Nobody likes it, nobody wants to do it, but it has be done. It will probably be alot like changing your diaper. By the way, I am going to do my best to force potty training on you at an extremely unreasonable age.

So get ready little man. You too will be expected to join in the sanding parties that go along with having a woodworking habit. In fact that was a driving force in having you! I kid, I kid... but really, get ready, wood glue tastes awful.