Muscatine is a pretty small town. According to the 2000 census they have less than 23,000 people in town. And this weekend they were hosting both the soccer tournament AND a softball tournament. For a city that has about 10 hotels total, hosting TWO big sporting events should be a big no-no.

But nobody listens to me. What’s new?

Muscatine isn’t that far from us so we weren’t going to get a hotel room. Just like the last Muscatine tournament, we were just going to drive up each day for the games and then drive home at night.

But then we found out Spencer’s team played at 8am on both Saturday and Sunday. If you’ve known me longer than 45 seconds then you know I don’t do 8am. I don’t even go to work that early. I am as far from a morning person as you can get.

So I made a reservation at a local hotel. All was good. We had two queen beds. And there was a pool. We were set.

But a few days later (about a week before our trip), I got a note from Expedia. “Call me. There’s a problem,” was the jist of the email.

Turns out the hotel was overbooked and didn’t have room for us. The dude from Expedia apologized profusely and said he’d make it right. He was going to find me a better hotel and only charge me the same price and give me a $100 certificate for a future trip booked through Expedia. I was totally down with that.

Only he couldn’t find any other hotels. The whole city was booked. Imagine that. A small city. Who is hosting both a soccer tournament and softball tournament. With only 10 hotels. Is booked. This is me giving you the evil eye, city of Muscatine. Consider yourself on notice.

The only room Expedia could find for me was at the Super 8. I was a little leary ’cause Super 8 sounded like a not so nice hotel. But maybe that’s because I’m a huge snob. Who knows.

So the Expedia dude got me booked at the Super 8. He said, “Is that going to be ok?”

I replied, “Yeah, as long as it doesn’t have bugs.”

“Oh stop. Of course it doesn’t have bugs,” he joked in his adorable English accent.

So Friday night, Spencer, Caleb and I checked in to our room at the Super 8. [Skyler had a birthday party to go to and Lee had a softball game so they joined us later that night.]

First, our room was on the second floor. And the hotel had no elevator. WTF?!? What hotel with more than one floor doesn’t have an elevator. Do they think people who come to Muscatine don’t have luggage?

Even though we were only staying two nights, with five people we had a pretty big bag. And with Lee still back at home, I had to do my best Popeye impersonation and lug the bag up one flight of stairs. Turn on the landing and lug it up the second flight of stairs.

Then, the second I opened the door to our room I was smacked across the face with the smell of mildew. I could hear my allergies groan and my asthma kicking up it’s heels.

But what could I do? There were no other hotels available. I did seriously consider sleeping in the van, but I figured the kids would protest. Then I thought about just driving home and waking up at 5am for the morning game. But then my inner night owl beat the crap out of my tiny inner morning person and I relented.

The next morning I woke up with my face swollen two sizes too big and my nose running like somebody forgot to turn off the cold faucet.

And to make matters better, Lee informed me that he got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and saw several bugs in there.

Kill me. Kill me now.

Luckily we were busy all day. In fact I had to drive all the way back home for several hours for Skyler’s cheer competition and then all the way back to Muscatine for Spencer’s next soccer game. [This is my life. Constantly in the car. When I'm not in shitty motels.] So I didn’t have to hang out in the hotel much.

When I got back Lee informed me that he cleaned out the dehumidifier in the room. [What hotel has a separate stand-alone dehumidifier in the room? Crappy ones.] He also pulled the filter out of the air conditioner. It was apparently covered in dirty and grime and things we can’t speak of. He took them outside, smacked them on the back wall of the hotel and replaced them.

For the love of God, Super 8. Clean your damn filters more than once in a lifetime.

Then as we were getting ready for bed, Caleb went in to the bathroom. He came out and said, “Why are there bugs in the bathroom?”

Why indeed Caleb? If an 8-year-old realizes a hotel shouldn’t have bugs, why doesn’t a hotel realize it shouldn’t have bugs. I’m just sayin’.

So, needless to say, we will NEVER stay in the Super 8 in Muscatine EVER AGAIN. I’d rather sleep in my car. Or wake up at 5am. Or skip the tournament all together. Anything is better than bugs and swollen faces.

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Of course, that might change now.

I’ve been driving around this borrowed truck and parking it in front of my house (since my truck is in pieces in the garage). We haven’t had much success with parking in front of our house. At least four or five times somebody has hit one of our cars that is parked in front of our house.

One time a car from a block up rolled down the street, missed every. single. thing. in it’s path…except my car. We weren’t home and had left the kids at home with a sitter. The sitter discovered our car was involved when the cops knocked on our door to let us know.

One winter a guy slid as he turned the corner and side swiped our car. Even though we are THREE houses down from the corner. He was in a work truck and, although he didn’t knock on our door (presumably because it happened at the butt crack of dawn), he did leave us his insurance information under our windshield wiper.

Another time a young girl was driving up our street, was a little too far to the right, and ended up taking the side mirror off the Geo Metro we had waiting for Justis to get a license. I was walking out the door to take one of the kids somewhere when it happened. And she didn’t even stop. Just hit the car right in front of me and kept going. Justis ran after her and saw which house she stopped at a block away. So we were able to get her insurance information…eventually.

And we’ve also been hit one or two times where nobody stopped to give us their name or number. Luckily those times the damage was minimal.

We thought we were pretty safe since it’s summer. Most of the previous accidents happened on very icy days in the dead of winter. But around 3:30pm. Just a mere 10 minutes after I had returned home from picking up Skyler & Spencer from school. And a mere half hour before I had to pick up Keaton and Caleb from school. [Don't even get me started on these staggered school times.] There was a knock on the door.

There was a little old lady on the other side of the door. “I accidentally hit your car,” she practically whispered.

My first thought was, “Oh here we go again.”

Then my second thought was, “SHIT! The only car parked in front of the house IS BORROWED FROM A FRIEND.”

I tried not to panic as I walked out to the borrowed truck with this woman. She had no damage to her car…that I could see. Then I turned around and looked at the borrowed truck. The side mirror was still attached, but the glass was cracked in a spider web pattern. The edge of the running board was knocked clear off and laying in the middle of the street. And there was a white streak streaming across the dark blue truck from the trunk to the hood.

I took a deep breath. Screamed “FUCKING MOTHER FUCKER!” In my head. And then calmly asked her for her information.

She was very nice. And very apologetic. I told her, “Thanks for stopping and letting me know rather than just driving off.”

She replied, “Oh I would never do that. I’m not that kind of person.”

“You’d be surprised how many people out there are that kind of person,” I mumbled.

Thankfully my friend is handling it very well. He’s very handy with tools and, as a contractor, knows a lot of people. So he can get it fixed cheaply (I hope). And the little old lady has insurance so that’s covered. But I felt awful having to make that phone call. “You know how you let me borrow your truck? Well some little old lady just hit it in front of our house.”

This month sucks. I’m going to go cuddle with bottle of vodka.

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I’ve been begging him to get his permit so he can then get his license. We need another driver in the house to help get everybody where they need to be or to run to the store for milk or something. I never thought I’d have to twist his arm to get him to get his permit. I thought all kids wanted to drive the second the law allowed. And in the state of Iowa he could have gotten his permit on his 14th birthday.

But then again I didn’t get my permit until I was already 16 (although I taught myself to drive when I was 15). And then I only got my permit because it was required for driver’s ed. I guess little enthusiasm for driving is a family trait.

So he got his permit, but then he was gone the whole month of July to camp and grandparent’s houses. There was no time to teach him the basics or let him get behind the wheel.

That all changed this month. Now he’s home. And he wants to drive. Every chance he gets.

But he’s not very good.

He just needs more practice. Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself.

Yesterday we were leaving to go to take him to church group. He, of course, wanted to drive. And I’m trying to ignore my anxiety and let him get some experience. So I tossed him the keys and jumped in the passenger seat.

He turned on the truck. Put it in reverse and said, “This is the first time I’ve ever driven out of the garage before.”

Famous last words.

He stepped stomped on the gas and the truck jerked backwards. We were flying out of the garage.

“YOU’RE GOING TO FAST,” I screamed…too late.

He was going to fast. And turned too soon. The bumper hooked on to the wall of the garage. And we were still moving.

I jumped out of the truck. The grill was laying in the middle of the garage floor. No longer attached to the truck. One of the headlights was dangling from the truck like an eyeball on a Halloween mask.

Then I looked over at the garage. The garage that’s part of the house WE ARE TRYING TO SELL. The wall was completely bent out off the cement slab. The cinder blocks that hold up the wall were knocked out and laying in the grass. The garage door frame was bent so the rolly things that ride through the track to open and close the door would fall off track if the door was moved.

I tried not to cry. I tried not to yell. “Just pull the truck back in to the garage,” I sneered at Keaton. And I walked back in to the house. To hyperventilate.

He’s a new driver. He’s just learning. There’s going to be bumps in the road. Literally. But it will be ok. This is what I kept chanting to myself to calm myself down.

Later, after my heart stopped raising and my blood pressure returned to normal, I went to talk to Keaton. “I’m not mad at you. You know that right? I’m frustrated this happened, but we’ll get it fixed. You’ll get a bit more practice in and navigating garage walls will become easier for you.”

So now we just need to get it fixed.

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But when I got home nobody was there. I tried the door knob. It was locked. I knocked on the door. Nobody answered. I didn’t know what to do. I was five. I had no experience to deal with a situation like this. So I did what any five-year-old would do. I sat on the step and cried.

After a while my neighbor spotted me and came out to save me. She called my mom and then the neighbor either took me to daycare or my mom came and got me. I don’t remember which. It was a long time ago.

My point is…issues with the bus seem to run in the family.

Today was the first day of school. Last year Skyler and Spencer graduated from elementary school and are now attending the intermediate school. This means they go to school an hour earlier. Get home an hour earlier. And ride a new bus. They go to the same bus stop, but it’s a different bus number for this early bus.

After school the intermediate school kids ride a shuttle bus from their school over to the middle school. At the middle school they disembark the shuttle bus and get on their regular buses to ride home.

I met the bus at the bus stop at 3:15. Skyler leaped off the bus and ran over to our truck. We sat there and waited for Spencer to jump off the bus. But the bus driver shut the bus door and drove off. I scanned the kids that were still lingering around to see if Spencer was chatting with a friend. I didn’t see him.

“Was Spencer on the bus?” I asked Skyler.

“Yeah….I think so. I saw him on the shuttle bus.”

Hmm….where could he be.

I tried to call his cell phone. No answer.

Skyler said, “Oh no. My twin brother is lost.”

I tried to remain calm as I said, “It’s ok. We’ll find him.” But there was a bit of a quiver in my voice as inside I was screaming “WHERE THE FUCK IS MY KID?”

I wasn’t really sure what to do. I figured he probably got on the wrong bus, but how would I figure out what bus he was on. I couldn’t really drive around the whole district stopping buses to see if my son had accidentally gotten on their bus.

I tried Spencer’s cell phone again. No answer.

I decided to head for home to call the transportation office. On the way I called Lee to let him know we were one child down. Lee was no help.

By the time I got home I was shaking. WHAT IF SOMEBODY TOOK HIM? WHAT IF HE GOT ON THE WRONG BUS AND GOT OFF IN SOME STRANGE NEIGHBORHOOD NEVER TO BE HEARD FROM AGAIN? I was trying to remain calm. But I think we all know calm is not my strong point.

I called the transportation office and began to ramble about how my son didn’t get off the bus, but we’re pretty sure he rode the shuttle bus and he’s probably on the wrong bus, but who know what bus that is or how I’ll find him and…

The woman who answered the phone interrupted my crazy with “What bus was he supposed to be on?”

“He was supposed to get off at [location where he should have exited the bus],” I responded, out of breath.

“What’s his name?” she asked.

And then I could hear her radioing the bus driver. Followed with “Oh ok. You have him? Ok. Yeah. Yep, Ok.”

I was trying to patiently wait for her to return to the phone. But, again, I think we all know patience is not a virtue I practice well.

She finally came back, told me they found him, they are taking him back to the school so he can ride the later bus home.

Whew!

So at 4:15 I was back at the bus stop to meet Keaton, Caleb AND Spencer.

Keaton climbed off the bus and headed for the truck.

Caleb skipped off the bus and ran towards the truck.

And then we waited. No Spencer.

I was about to burst in to tears. Or have a heart attack. Or both.

I looked at Keaton with my crazy eyes and screamed, “Was Spencer on the bus?”

Keaton said, “Yeah.”

I sent Keaton over to the bus to go find him before the bus pulled away.

Turns out the bus driver was talking to some kid on the bus who was blocking the last few kids who were trying to get off the bus. So after a few minutes Spencer FINALLY walked off the bus and came over to the truck. He had tears in his eyes. I had tears in my eyes. We were a mess. But at least everybody was accounted for.

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We started the month with 4th of July activities. Skyler’s cheer team performed in the parade. We had our annual family picnic with my dad’s side of the family. The three younger kids ran in the annual Kids Fun Run. We watched the fireworks (the first ones back downtown since the horrible flood of 2008). And we had several family meals.

Then the kids headed to Chicago with my mom. For two weeks. They went to Navy Pier, saw tons of movies and went swimming almost every day.

We got to see them for a day and a half before they all headed off to church camp. Keaton went to West Virginia for a mission trip. And Skyler, Spencer, and Caleb headed to a nearby camp for some fun outdoor activities.

This weekend we picked them up from camp and immediately headed to Des Moines for a soccer tournament. And by immediately I mean after a stop at home for showers.

I completely underestimated how dirty the outdoors is. I know, right? Who knew spending a week in the forest with bugs and mud and creek water could be so disgusting?

Skyler was in a Music, Art, Drama camp so we headed up to camp early to catch her performance. They wrote their own musical to perform for parents. It was very cute. They did a fantastic job.

The second I saw her I was a little taken aback by how filthy and tangled her hair was. I turned to Lee and said, “Ok we are going to HAVE to make time to stop at home for showers.”

This might come as a shock to you, but I’m not really an outdoorsy person. You’re shocked, right? We were at camp for an hour; watching Skyler’s performance and picking up the kids. I spent the entire hour trying not to have a panic attack. The second I stepped in to the lodge my OCD kicked in and I wanted to scream “NOBODY TOUCH ME UNTIL YOU WASH YOUR HANDS!” But I took a deep breath (which was difficult since the lodge smelled like animal urine), plastered on a fake smile, and tried to make the best of it.

Kids love that kind of thing. Dirt, mud, creek stomping. They were in their element. Me? I was all, “Grab your stuff. Let’s get the hell out of here.” A couple weeks ago Keaton said we should buy an RV and go camping in the summers. My response? Do I look like a girl who camps? When Keaton was in Boy Scouts Lee went on every camping trip or Keaton didn’t go. I would have passed out the first time I accidentally stepped in a mud puddle. Or starved because you know my OCD won’t allow me to eat from some rusty skillet held over a fire made with dirty sticks rather than a stove.

Stopping home would likely make us late for the soccer tournament, but I didn’t care. Showers were necessary if I was going to sit in the car with the kids for a couple of hours. And I’m sure Spencer’s teammates would appreciate the sacrifice of a shower.

As soon as we got home they all jumped in the shower. And I went through their bags. I dumped the bags directly in the laundry room. Towels and bathing suits were covered in smelly water, small tree branches and dried up leaves. I did everything I could to stop dry heaving as I stuffed the washing machine full of camp clothes. Several pairs of socks that used to be white were now black. I just threw those away. For my sanity I would rather spend $10 on a package of new socks then continue to touch those stinky, mud-filled socks. I’m seriously thinking about throwing away a couple pairs of shoes too. YUCK!

I’m thinking next year Lee can pick the kids up from camp and wash all their clothes. I’ll spend the weekend at the spa.

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On Thursday night Keaton texted me:

You should hear about it tomorrow but i’m tellin you now because i feel terrible about it but two of my roommates were throwing bottles out a window and i knew

I called him and we talked about it. He didn’t throw anything. He knew it was wrong. His only mistake was not telling anybody what was going on. I was glad to hear he wasn’t partaking in the prank. But was a little upset to hear he also did nothing to stop it. However it was clear that he knew he was wrong and was taking responsibility for it.

So all was good.

But then last night I got the whole story from a friend who was on the trip. A friend who ended up having to fly home early with the two boys who were throwing water bottle out of their dorm window. A flight they had to take because the police were involved and the boys either needed to go home or go to jail. They stole the water bottles from the work site. They came dangerously close to hitting pedestrians with the full water bottles. And they almost hit a cop car with a bottle. AND this was the second night they were throwing water bottles out of their window. Keaton left all of that out when we had talked the night before.

So I began texting Keaton asking him to confirm my new found knowledge of the event. He ended up calling me. Yes, everything I heard was true. And the youth leader wanted to talk to me.

She got on the phone and said, “I wanted to talk to you. And it’s for a good thing.”

Ok, now I’m really confused.

She went on to say that while they were initially disappointed because Keaton didn’t come forward and didn’t tell, they are now very impressed with him for taking responsibility for his role in the matter. No he didn’t throw any water bottles. Other kids confirmed that. But he now realizes that he shouldn’t have allowed it to happen either. And he, all on his own [along with another boy who knew, but also didn't tell] volunteered to help the other two boys pay off their debt to the church. They are going to work off the three plane tickets (for the two boys and the chaperon who had to fly back) by working at the church.

Keaton is 15. And, like many 15-year-olds, he will find himself in situations where he will have to make hard decisions about what’s right or wrong. He will have to decide whether or not to give in to peer pressure or do the right thing. He will have to face consequences when he experiments with danger or finds himself in tough situations.

One of the hardest parts of being a parent of a teen is letting them make their own decisions. Letting them take the fall when they make bad decisions. And trusting them to do the right thing.

I’m so happy to see that Keaton is admitting when he’s wrong and taking responsibility for his actions. I’m so proud of him for realizing his mistake and learning from it. He is such a good kid. I know he will make more mistakes in the next couple of years. But I have faith that he will learn from them and be a better person because of them. I’m so lucky to have such a wonderful teen.

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I got him in for his physical on Monday. [Granted still at the walk-in clinic because apparently he hasn't had a physical since 2007 and our doctor's office couldn't fit him in before this morning.] I got a copy of his shots records before hand. I even packed his back last night so we weren’t frantically throwing things together at the last minute.

I’ve overcome procrastination. Maybe.

Although I haven’t overcome my hatred of mornings.

I woke up late, didn’t get out the door until after 9am, and we still needed to stop for gas. So we didn’t get him to camp until 10:30am; a half hour after he was supposed to be there.

But I’m making progress, people. And that’s all that matters, right?

Caleb was a little apprehensive about camp. He’s sort of independent. But prefers to go off on independent adventures…when his siblings are accompanying him. However, this time it was all him.

He sat in the backseat, very quiet. Lee tried to lighten the mood with a joke. A VERY BAD joke. “Don’t worry. You’ll have fun playing in the forest with the bears.”

Caleb said with all the attitude his little 8-year-old body could muster, “Um, a bear would eat me!”

So with that joke falling flat, we decided to be silent the rest of the way there.

Turns out Caleb’s cabin was just two cabins away from Skyler’s cabin. And we saw Skyler as we were pulling in to unload. This immediately lifted Caleb’s spirits…a little.

We got Caleb signed up and dragged all his luggage out of the car. As we were headed to the cabin his camp counselor told him to grab his swim trunks and towel. They were heading to the pool first thing.

And that was how they hooked him. Caleb is a sucker for the swimming pool. All his fears swam [pun intended] away and he was practically pushing us back in the van. “Bye Mom and Dad. See you later.” No more fear of bears or loneliness or anything. They were going swimming and that’s all that matters.

I’m a little sad that I can be so easily forgotten when swimming is involved. But at least I know he’s having fun.

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So while they were getting excited. And I was fretting over creepy crawling things they might encounter in the middle of the woods, I completely forgot to take care of all the small details of camp. Things like filling out the paperwork required for them to go. And buying tiny soaps and shampoos and flashlights. Oh, and getting them physicals.

We needed to drop Skyler & Spencer off at camp at 4pm. And it takes an hour to get there. Around 1pm I remembered there was some paperwork I needed to fill out. So I printed it off and began filling it out. That’s when I read “Please return these forms to camp at least 2 weeks prior to your child’s session.” Oops. Considering camp started in 3 hours I wasn’t going to quite make that 2 week deadline.

Then I found the physical form. Physicals?!? Who knew kids had to have a physical before camp?

Considering it was Sunday afternoon and the doctor’s offices were closed, I was in a bit of a pickle. I called the camp to find out what my options were. But nobody answered the phone. ‘Cause, you know, a day when parents are dropping their kids off at camp would be a good day to ignore the phone. I doubt parents would have any questions.

I was starting to get pissed. At myself. Why do I ALWAYS procrastinate about, well, everything. The kids are going to be really ticked off if they don’t get to go to camp because I couldn’t get my shit together.

So I called the walk-in clinic by our house. They said they were really busy, but could probably get them in. So with physical forms in hand, Lee raced out the door with Skyler & Spencer. Now this walk-in clinic is in the same building that our regular doctor is in. So I was hoping they could just pull the kids’ records, see when their last physical was, and, assuming they’ve had a physical in the last 2 years, just fill out the form and send Lee and the kids on their merry way.

BUT, that would be too easy. They said they don’t have access to those records. And, even though everything is now input in to the computer and the hospitals big PR push is that everything is available at the touch of a keyboard, the walk-in clinic says they can’t access anything. They don’t know when their last physicals were. They can’t see their shots records. Nothing.

Instead Lee and the kids had to wait in the waiting room for over an hour, see the doctor, and have him fill out new physical forms. Then I had to pray that the church would let me fax their shots records the next day.

And the best part? According to the walk-in clinic, Blue Cross Blue Shield won’t pay for physicals at a walk in clinic. So I’ll have to pay $90 per child for the physicals.

Look what my procrastination has cost me! ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY FREAKING DOLLARS!

You’d think I would have learned a lesson from this. That procrastination doesn’t pay. In fact, procrastination makes you have to pay others. But you’d be wrong. I’m sure I’ll still procrastinate in the future. ‘Cause if I didn’t what would I have to bitch about?

On a side note, the kids were allowed to go to camp. We got them there just 45 minutes late. And I was able to fax their shots records today. So all worked out in the end. At a price.

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Can i die my hair blonde

I have never been one of those parents who really cares if my kids dye their hair. Keaton got blonde highlights a few years back. Last summer we dyed Caleb’s mohawk blonde (or, um, brassy). If dyeing in their hair is the worst thing they want to do then I’ll consider myself lucky. So I had no objections.

Skyler BEFORE the blonde hair with her brother at the parade on June 26th. Skyler performed in the parade with her cheer team.

However, there is no way I was going to spend $65 on a professional dye job for a 10-year-old. So I did some research. And by research I mean I asked a friend who’s recently dyed her hair blonde. She told me she did a Google search and found out you need to bleach and then put on a blue toner to get out the orange.

So I went home and scoured the internet for some tips. I read articles. I watched YouTube videos. I memorized photos. Who needs beauty school when you have the internet?

Friday afternoon I headed over to Sally Beauty to pick up supplies. The clerk pointed out the bleach and the toners and I spent the next 20 minutes studying the different brands, eyeballing the samples, reading the directions on the back of bottles and trying to decide between blue toner or blue-violet toner. I settled on some powdered bleach, 20 Pure White developer, and blue toner.

Around 7:30pm last night the kids finally got home. After almost two weeks without them it was awesome to see their huge smiles and be on the receiving end of their big, warm hugs.

Within an hour the boys were off playing with their friends, Keaton’s girlfriend was over, and Skyler was ready to dye her hair.

I went to mix the bleach and discovered you have to add the developer in my ounces. I have nothing that measures things in ounces. I was trying to decide whether or not I should wing it (um…that would be a big fat NO with me) or go to the store for something. Then I realized the toner was in a 2 oz. container. So I dumped out the toner and used that as my measuring tool. Using my noodle thar, yo.

I mixed up a small amount of bleach and went to town on Skyler’s hair. I was such a wild woman I kept dropping plops of bleach on the bathroom floor. Clearly I’m a true professional.

I got the bleach on her hair, put a processing cap on her head (that is no different from a shower cap, so why it’s not called a shower cap I have no idea), and got out the blow dryer. Google says that applying heat makes it work faster. Since I don’t have one those fancy hair dryer chair things you see in salons I figured the blow dryer would do. But, dude, standing there blow drying her hair for 10 minutes sucks big hairy donkey balls. So eventually I just gave up and told her we’d wait it out.

After 20 minutes I realized we could be waiting all night. I obviously didn’t coat her hair well enough with the bleach.

So we rinsed, blow dryed, and repeated.

The first attempt with the bleach lightened the hair, but it definitely wasn’t blonde…YET.

This time I mixed up a much bigger batch of bleach. I smothered her hair with the goop. We put another shower processing cap on. And waited.

About 15 minutes later I took a peek. And it was finally starting to go blonde. It was brassy. But blonde nonetheless.

A few minutes later we ripped off the cap, shampooed and deep conditioned her hair. I applied to toner. And we waited. It was really, really, really brassy, so (being a complete beauty novice) I wasn’t totally convinced this blue toner would take it all out. But I had high hopes.

After 15 minutes I could really see the difference. The orange was totally gone. All that was left was the bloney-yellow. That’s when I started kicking myself for not going with the blue-violet toner. But you live and your learn.

It still seemed a little dark, but I was ok with dark blonde.

Again we shampooed it and deep conditioned it. I towel dried it and it looked lighter. Then I got the blow dryer back out and completely dried it. When dried it looked a lot lighter. And Skyler LOVED it.

The final look. It’s definitely blonde. And Skyler LOVES it.

I still think it might be a little too yellow, but I’m pretty impressed with my beauty skillz. Plus Skyler thinks it’s awesome. And that’s all that matters.

Skyler didn’t tell anybody but me that she wanted to dye her hair. So when Caleb saw it his chin practically dropped to the floor. “WOW,” he exclaimed.

Spencer said, “Where is my sister?” He was a little shocked too.

Spencer and Caleb with Skyler and her new blonde hair. Beautiful!

Tonight we’re going to dinner. I can’t wait to see my mom and grandma’s reaction. Should be interesting.

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We have argued about everything from paint color to cabinet size to floor placement.

This weekend we started laying our wood floor and there was a moment where I seriously considered hitting him upside the head with a plank of wood. And I think I might have detected a moment (when I was yanking up all the pieces his friend had just cut and laid moments before, but I didn’t like the placement) where Lee was ready to slice off one of my limbs with the jigsaw. I’m just sayin’. Home remodel is stressful y’all.

Every trip to Menards for paint goes like this.

Me: Ooohh. This is nice. What do you think of this paint color?
Lee: Hate it.
Me: Hmm…how about this one?
Lee: Ugly.
Me: [Getting pissed] What about this?
Lee: Seriously?!?
Me: [Big dramatic sigh] Well this then.
Lee: That’s the worst one yet.
Me: FINE. I’LL PICK WHAT I WANT AND YOU’LL JUST HAVE TO LIVE WITH IT ASSHOLE.

So I won that one.

On another trip to Menards we found ourselves in front of the kitchen cabinets trying to find the right size. We needed one cabinet to be 33″ wide and the next cabinet to be 18″ wide. Only the generic cheap ass affordably priced cabinets don’t come in the 33″ variety. It’s either 30″ or 36″. I suggested we instead buy a 36″ cabinet and a 15″ cabinet.

“But then they wont line up right with the lower cabinets,” Lee whined.

“Well what do you want me to do about it? They don’t have a 33″ cabinet,” I seethed.

Then Lee said something else I couldn’t hear because steam was pouring out of my ears. And I snapped. I yelled at him right there in the cabinet section. I’m pretty sure I even used some F-bombs. I was done. Fuck the kitchen cabinets. The next homeowners can just buy some cheap shelves from Wal-Mart to put their shit on for all I care.

We found out later they make these things called spacers (which are just planks of wood) so you can get the smaller cabinet and make it look like a bigger cabinet. So Lee took back the cabinets and exchanged them for the 30″ cabinet – with two inch and a half spacers – and the 18″ cabinet. Crisis averted. And now the next homeowner will have actual kitchen cabinets instead of cheap pressed wood shelves.

So Lee won that one.

We now have our upper kitchen cabinets installed. Lee pretty much installed them himself. I tried to help him, but ended up just making it worse. Cause, um, I’m a girl. Not a construction worker.

First Lee held the cabinet in place and I used the cordless drill to screw in the screw. But, dude, the cordless drill goes super fast. I kept falling off the screw and punching a small hole (well really just a dent) in the back of the cabinet. I think Lee had to restrain himself from drilling that screw in to my forehead.

So then we swapped places. I held the cabinet in place while Lee screwed in the screw. Only, um, cabinets are heavy y’all. I couldn’t keep that thing in place.

Lee had had enough. “Just go watch TV or something,” he snapped. And I obliged. ‘Cause I didn’t want to hang those stupid cabinets anyway.

I don’t know how he managed to both, hold the cabinet, and screw in the screw at the same time, but Lee did it. And the cabinets look awesome.

So we’re almost there. And we haven’t killed each other yet. I think we deserve some kind of medal for this. Or at least homemade cookies.

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