Getting the lead out
... or how to give your parents simultaneous heart attacks...
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We've been working day and night to get our rental property ready for its "lead swipe test." It's a relatively new mandate in these parts, whereby city property that's not owner-occupied must go through a white glove test. Or at least a lead-dust detecting test. The coveted Certificate of Occupancy is dangled at the end of this test, so of course you must pass it.
Naturally, people choose to live in cool old city houses (that are filled with lead paint) for their charm (bathed in lead paint) and woodwork (covered in lead paint), and the convenience to amenities (other old buildings also covered with lead paint). But if you're an off-site landlord, your property is subject to The Test. Interestingly, the city couldn't care less if you have lead dust in your owner-occupied property. Guess you're SOL there.
Anyway. Our rental property is pre-1900, so of course there's lead paint in it. We've been preparing for the swipe test by scraping loose paint and painting windows, and cleaning, cleaning, and cleaning some more. For the past couple of weeks, I've been doing the easy work of painting and cleaning, and my husband's been doing the hard work of scraping paint and installing hard-wired smoke and carbon monoxide detectors in two apartments. All of this toward the renewal of the C of O. Mostly we go there one at a time and take a shift at doing what must be done. But on weekends, we all go. Parents and preschooler. For the most part, it's worked out well. Amazing how long a little person can last with a shoebox full of toys and a cassette tape of Wiggles music.
I thought I did a good job covering the danger zones when we arrived for our first working session as a family.
"Stay away from Dad's tools. I know they're cool-looking. You can look -- just don't touch. Okay?"
"It's a great ladder, isn't it? Please play over here though. I don't want you getting hurt..."
"You can play with this paintbrush. Only Mom & Dad are allowed to touch the paint..."
"The cellar stairs are very steep and dangerous. I don't want you to go near them without holding Daddy's hand..."
Seemed like all was going well. The Wiggles played over and over, and there was plenty of floor space for running in circles. What could be better (for him!)?
I took a break from my shop-vac-holding duty to discover the one thing I forgot to mention.
Apparently when you're almost 4, the allure of condensation on a storm window is more than one can bare. You must smell it. Touch it. Taste it. I entered the room where my son was entertaining himself to find his tongue hanging out of his smiling little mouth while he stood next to an obviously just-licked-like-crazy window.
You have never seen two parents rush to rinse their child's mouth so quickly.
So now, we add "Don't lick the windows" to the list of rules.
Whodathunkit?
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***footnote: after much fretting and panic and visualizing our son's IQ dropping before our eyes, we realized that the window he'd licked had been thoroughly cleaned, post-lead-paint-scraping. Thank. God. Cuz yeah. There would have been lead dust all over that sucker.
