That Moment When....

(I wrote this exactly 5 years ago. It's still hilarious. We refer to it often. Not sure if we ever made it public though.  Enjoy.)

In an effort to prepare for the great "Back to School" festivities I decided to take the kids for haircuts.  If you'd seen The Oldest in the recent past you'd know that his hair was in an unfortunate state of entanglement.  It resembled an octopus type creature and growled at me any time I mentioned "conditioner", a "brush", or "hair cut".  After it made a meal request and invited guests over for a large dinner party I decided that it needed to go.  The Oldest could no longer keep it in check or calm it down so he agreed that the bonds must be severed.  The Middle and The Youngest Boy had been referred to as "she", "her" or "daughters" enough that they were also begging for cuts.  There's one particular girl that's cut the kids' hair for years and she happens to work at the salon ( a term I use loosely in this instance) inside Wal Mart and the kids like her a lot.  So I load up the Brangelina Brood into the Super Mom Van and head out.  As I'm backing out of the driveway I hear a familiar clicking noise that tells me that I'm in desperate need of an oil change if I really want to make it to West Mansfield this weekend. 

Hey- I like multitasking.  Makes me feel all productive and stuff.  So what could be easier???  Drop the van off at the Lube station in Wal Mart while I take the kids to get their mops chopped!  Brilliant!  I'm so smart.  :-)  This will be a cinch.  In we go, drop off the keys and head to the salon.  The Oldest is the first to suffer the indignity of the chair.  He starts by removing the Legend of Zelda beanie that has been firmly in place every day for the past 2 years.  The stylist gasped.  I tried to hide so that the people checking out did not see me standing near him.  Normally, I do my best to embarass my kids.  I don't get embarassed personally.  This was the exception.  But in order to complete the white trash sterotype I broke out the Flip and proceeded to take video footage for YouTube.  Maybe I'll send the clip to Daniel Tosh.  ;-)  The stylist went to work.  It took her 2 hours to brush out his hair.  Seriously.  2 hours.  (Yup, I'm mother of the year!)  She then put it in a pony tail and snipped it off.  He briefly used it as a prop - he was a horse - and then it bit him.  We wrestled it into a zip lock baggie.  It put up one helluva a fight though.  I had to bribe it with promises of cupcakes to get it into my purse.  Another stylist came in and took care of The Middle and The Youngest Boy in the meantime.  They all turned out pretty cute for a Wal Mart cut. 

About the time that they were all finished up the vibrating keychain that the Lube Center provided me was going off indicating that the van was complete.  At this point I am quite proud of myself!  Mini-Me had been good the whole time, the boys were getting antsy but nothing I couldn't handle.  So I pull out my wallet to pay the lady and my heart stopped.  The whole world went topsy turvy for a moment.  My debit card - my ONLY access to money - was NOT in my wallet.  Frantically, I pulled every card from it and sorted through them....  Kroger Plus card, CVS Rewards Card, Sally's Club, Edge Card, K Mart Special, Big Lots Rewards, my useless ATM card, my drivers license.  None of them could pay for the haircuts.  Then it dawns on me.  My debit card is on the couch.  At home.  My van is in the shop.  Even if I could leave The Oldest at the salon I couldn't run home because I can't pay for my van! Oh.  Holy.  Hell.

Just then Mini-Me breaks out into a frenzied cry for a boob, The Youngest Boy starts jumping off of seats, The Middle is hungry, The Oldest is bored, the stylist wants her money and her hefty tip for braving the violent tendrils of my 14 year old, everyone and everything is louder and I can feel my face running the gamut of every shade of red known to man.  I'm sure it settled on a deep crimson.   My brain starts to go into high gear as my adrenaline starts to rush.  My sister is at work, in Kettering.  It's 4:00.  No one is home.  What the hell am I going to do???  Okay - I'll text everyone in my phone book that could possibly assist.  Jessy was already workin.  Then I call Amber who can be there in an hour and a half.  I've got to be at The Middle Son's school for 2nd grade orientation and I promised a trip to JD's Custard.  Finally, Kyle comes through.  He will come and get The Oldest, run him to the house and then bring him back.  In the meantime we must wait in the salon.  I whip out a nipple for Mini-Me and ask the boys to sit down and be patient.  Help is on the way!

As I am nursing Mini-Me, The Middle has to pee.  I agree to letting him run to the restroom.  Well, The Youngest Boy  takes off after him.  So I jump up - Mini-Me still attached to my right breast - and try to chase him down and get him back where he belongs.  Yeah - that wasn't humiliating in the slightest.  Around 4:40 Kyle arrives and grabs The Oldest.  There was a light at the end of the tunnel!  By this time the boys have maxed out the attention span.  They're restless.  They've invented a game out of a nickel and the floor which ends in a fight and crying.  I want to shrivel up and die.  Or evaporate.  Anything other than this!  Every second that Kyle and The Oldest were gone went so slowly.  I could hear every tick of the clock.  Finally, they return with the card in hand!  I apologize profusely for the stylists inconvenience and generously tipped her.  Then we headed to the Lube Center and retrieved my keys.  I drove away from Wal Mart like Barney Oldfield (he was an old race car driver that my dad always compared us to). 

We made it to JD's.  Not to orientation though.  I know, priorities!  Went home as fast as we could and decided that we won't be going to Wal Mart any time soon.   Be on the lookout for my pic on Peopleofwalmart.com in the next week or so.   

Get The Ladder D-Von!

I've done some incredibly stupid things in my life.  Once, when I was 5 or so I decided that I was going to make my 'rents laugh so hard that they'd have no choice but to commission a parade in my honor.  Ever watched Dumb & Dumber?  There's this scene where Lloyd (Jim Carrey) imagines that he shows up to Mary Swanson's house with her missing briefcase and in celebration & thanks her family invites him in for tea and strumpets.  They are all sitting by the fireplace in oversized sweaters, cozy & warm, watching Lloyd do incredibly funny things with a lighter and a fart.  They all love him.  Yeah - that's kinda how I thought this would be.  My aunt Joyce was in from Tennessee.  My mum didn't get to see her often.  So they were all sitting around the fire in the living room, looking at old photographs and talking about the good ole days.  I was in the dining room rummaging through my mum's sewing box that was left on the table.  Looking through her things was one of my favorite pastimes.  In my adventure (In my head it was an archaeological dig) I came across this lone button.  It was safely housed in a tiny, ziploc baggie.  I opened the bag and took the small, red button out and the cogs started turning in my head.  How can I use this little treasure to insight riotous laughter into the family in the next room?  Ah - With my NOSE!  The thought was that I can take this button, place it in the opening of my nostril, cover the other nostril and blow that button out so hard that it goes flying across the room.  They will love me.  The flaw in this glorious plan was that I breathed in really hard so that I could exhale really hard.  Can you guess where the button went? 

There was no laughter.  Only fear, panic, some words inappropriate for a young child's ears and a disbursement of the crowd.  I was scooped up into my mum's arms and placed in the car.  My dad put on his jacket and got his keys.  Off we went to the Emergency Room.  Some time later I was prepped for surgery.  The red button had made it's way into my sinus cavity and could not be reached with tweezers.  We departed the hospital just in time for my Aunt to fly back to Tennessee.  She died about 6 months later.  I decided that I wouldn't try that again any time soon.  I went on to commit some other interesting acts of stupidity - Tweezers into the electrical outlet no less than two times, feeding my friend real mud pies, washing my 'rents antique, wooden bedroom suite with Ajax, dropping my newborn sister on her ginormous head....  The list could go on!

A few years ago, Ex Douchebag & I decided to resurrect a notoriously violent wrestling promotion.  He has an affinity for certain brands of hardcore wrestling - namely tables, ladders & chairs (TLC Matches).  I've often feared for his life in the hundreds upon hundreds of matches I witnessed.  Only once have I ever walked out of a show  He was climbing a ladder when it started to sway and subsequently fell over.  He got tangled in the ropes and I couldn't tell you what happened after that.  I left.  He went on to participate in quite a few more of these nauseating matches that terrified me to the core.    The day of the show he purchased an ugly, aluminum, yellow, 6ft ladder.  I watched helplessly as he climbed to the top and our friend, knocked him off.  Repeatedly.  This ladder bent and folded and opened and closed.... Generally, you don't want to re-use those ladders after they take that type of abuse.  When Ex Douchebag & I split up and I moved out of our home I left many of his things behind, mostly his old weapons - a table, a folding chair, trashcans.  He was supposed to go pick those things up.   But for some reason I couldn't leave that hideous ladder behind.  Not sure why, it's not like I can use the derned thing.  I have zero intentions of ever using a ladder for anything at any time.  If I can't stand on a chair then I don't need it.

Well - I ate my words today.  This morning was going so well.  I got up on time, got the kids dressed and ready, got The Middle Son to an appointment on time (a first!) and was generally in an incredible mood.  Pulled into the driveway, unloaded The Middle Son & The Youngest Boy and proceeded to rouse a slumbering Mini-Me.  The boys sat on the chairs on the front porch to wait.  I decided to just give them my keys so they could get out of the heat.  As a Public Service Announcement - I can't throw.  Unless I'm REALLY angry.  Throwing like a girl is an understatement.  With my left hand I went to toss The Middle Son my house/car keys.  And as if on purpose - my keys sailed through the blue sky right smack dab onto my roof and trailed down into the gutter.

You've got to be kidding me.  Really?  Landing in the bushes I can understand and even expect.  Hell - landing 823 feet from the intended target would normally be the result.  Not today.  Today they land on the roof.  I can't decide to laugh or cry.  So I laughed.  And then reality started to creep it's way up my spine.  Oh no.  How am I going to get them down?  There's no chair tall enough to reach my roof.  I am a towering 5'1".  This cannot be really happening, right?  Alan Funt is about to pop out any second and point out the multiple hidden cameras and explain how they used a superpowered magnet to set me up.... How'd they know I always keep a spare house key on my person at all times?

My only option is to dig that unreliable ladder out of the garage and retrieve my keys from what I am sure is a slimy, filthy gutter.  I'm envisioning worms, maggots and the full menu from Fear Factor in there.  After I instructed The Oldest to mail my updated life insurance policy which happened to be sitting on the computer desk in the event that I fell - I headed to the garage.  Bravely I got the ladder to the front of the house.  I can see where it's been bent and damaged from the last time it was used.  Joe Rogan is somewhere behind me telling me not to throw up.  Quickly I climb one rung at a time until I reach the point of no return.  I feel around and cannot locate my keys.  I have to take another step.  If I fall it's really going to hurt.  I spy my Wonder Woman keychain, grab her feet and pull her towards me.  Shockingly, it's clean in there!  But I'm not going to risk standing there examining any more of it!  Got down and away without injury or incident.

I won't be throwing my keys again though.  Ever.

Hey Kids! Check out this mushroom!

Yesterday I celebrated 15 years of motherhood.  Do I get a badge or like a free meal or something?  At least a card for my wallet or a discount on Tylenol?

I started the day by napping on the couch with my snuggly 8 month old daughter that I was woken from by a particularly insane nightmare.  A pink & black tarantula with razor legs that sliced my cats face and then gave birth to some really UGLY kittens was in my kitchen.  For clarity - the tarantula did the birthing, not my cat.  Cleaning my 8 & 4 year old sons bedroom then followed.  I was putting off mowing as looooooooooong as possible.

My procrastination was for good reason.  Or reasons in this case.  I've only mowed a lawn like twice in all my 33 years.  My yard now is quite large.  Most of my neighbors all have riding mowers.  Last year I was pregnant so I got a pass.  I hired some guy who tried very hard to soak me of money.  My old yard was maybe 50-60 feet.  It shouldn't cost me $100 every 2 weeks to have it mowed.  ANYWAY.......... I digress.  The mower hasn't been started in ages.  I can't get it started.  I'm just not very mechanical like that.  I've since determined that it's broken.  It involves duct tape.  LOL.  (Did someone hear Jeff Foxworthy?)  WOOHOO.  My sister offered to let me borrow hers.  The fun begins.

Getting the mower into my minivan - Task #1.  My sister lives on a steep hill.  Getting the mower OUT of the garage was the easy part.  It sailed quite quickly down the hill and almost into the street.  (sshhhhh!)  I open the back door and move some seats forward, hop in it and attempt to pull it into the van.  Uh, notsomuch.  Then I got out and picked it up trying to not touch blades.  I tried to push it.  That didn't work either.  I can feel eyes on me now.  The neighbors are staring.  Everyone is looking at me.  Watching.  Laughing.  Finally, I got it in!  I got home and proceeded to try to gently get the derned thing out of the van.  I dropped it.  (sssssshhhhhh!)  I've never felt so "on the spot" before.  Everyone is outside.  There's a party going on across the street.  Now there are more people watching than I want.  I really don't want anyone to watch.  I feel stupid.  But alas, I must mow!  I checked the gas - full.  I primered - 3 times per the instructions!.  I hold the stupid handle...... and PULL.  Nothing happens.  And again with the pulling.  The mower mocks me.  And again.  Now people are looking again.  And pointing.  And I can hear their whispering.  I move to the garage so that I am no longer a spectacle.  And it still won't start.  I text my sister - "How do you start this thing?  There wasn't a key!"  (I was kidding about the "key" part) She calls from Amish Country.  Walks me thru - then The Oldest joins the party.  Together we started the mower!

My one neighbor is TERRIFIED that I am going to hurt his car.  Dude - it's a Dodge.  Not a Porsche.  Get over yourself.  We live in suburbia.  Seriously, I'm not going to damage your sweet ride.  He moved his car.  Whatever dude.  Anyway... So I start mowing.  Seems easy enough.  I really wish people would STOP watching me.  I feel like I'm a Macy's float.  It really feels like I should be waving to those around me.  I need a mowing Tiara.  The mower stalls and I'm struggling to get it started again.  Here come some neighborhood children to ask me questions.  I just want them to shut up and go away.  I don't want them to draw attention to the fact that I have NO flippin clue what I'm doing.  So I play it off as though I have to pee so I can go investigate the source of the stall out without an audience.  And I'm back in business!

  Once I finished the front lawn I was ready to move to the back.  At least there the judging eyes of neighbors and passersby would be gone.  This is where it gets tough.  I'm mowing dandelions.  The clippings come out of a side chute right into a gust of wind and all over me.  They are wet which adds to the experience.  I now know why mowing should be done in pants.  I ran over a patch of mushrooms and had the same outcome.  I feel so gross right now.  As I mow the parameter of my backyard I am noticing little things about it that I didn't see before.  A rut here, a strange patch of grass there....  When I come across this large, whitish flattened mushy thing that was bright orange on the inside.  It's the strangest looking mushroom I've ever seen!  I make a mental note to show the kids.

I finish and turn around - I feel all accomplished and proud.   It feels great!  I did it.  Oh and I purposely didn't mow the side lawn that I share with my neighbors driveway out of spite (and the mower stalled again).  Then I remembered.  "Hey kids!  Check out this mushroom!!!!"  As I approached the mushroom I was so excited to see the looks on their faces.  I made it to the spot in the yard and just as I started to call for the kids a second time I nudged it with my foot.  A wave of the realization of stupidity came over me. It was a moldy orange one of the kids left out in the yard last week. 

Let's keep this between us.

Is something truly better than nothing?

(Sorry folks, I'm working on the funny one next.... gotta get this out)

There’s a funny hair that grows on your left shoulder.  It used to annoy me so I’d pull it out.  I know where that scar on your cheek came from.  I was there.  And I was scared to death but I never put the camera down.  You’d give me a signal if something were really wrong.  The shirt I got you for Christmas last year lies in a crumpled heap on the floor by the door next to her shoes.  It’s got a flock of ravens on the back symbolic of me.  I remember when you broke your tooth in that match with Iron Man.  In a sick form of love and adoration I tried to find it “for the archives”.  I knew you’d want it. The frames leaning against the wall hold pictures that we picked out together for our living room of our once happy home.  Now, those poetic trees will look down on you, providing visual shelter, as you hold her.  A solitary photograph of our children hangs in the center of the wall.  Their innocent smiles frozen in time with their trusting eyes looking back at you.  We were in the room that day coaxing them into the perfect pose.  She will never hold these thoughts and memories the way I do.  Instead she holds you.

In years past and months recent I’ve felt the first movements of life of the children that call you “Daddy”.  I see you & I when I look at them.  The perfect blend of our best features combined with interesting personalities.  They have names and a consciousness.  The Oldest shares our warped sense of humor.  The Middle Son has my eyes but your build, The Youngest Boy has your hair and eyes and my arms and legs.  Mini-Me has your eyelashes and iris’ identical to your shade of blue.  She has my coal black hair.  Not a day goes by that I don’t remember.  It’s comforting and haunting all at once.  They are pieces of us carrying on their own lives.  I wonder if you ever see them that way too.  Or are you able to separate? 

I’ve been ignored and kissed and loved and hated and left and found and lost and pushed.  Any other person and I’d say no.  You enter my lungs and I can feel you hit my bloodstream.  You flow through my veins.  When it’s finished sometimes I don’t feel the exhilaration of satisfaction but the primal fear that I’ll never feel it again.  Hours, minutes and seconds go by and I frenziedly hang on to every shred of evidence of you until the new fix arrives.  On the exterior you see a cold fish with an empty gaze.  Inside I’m melting without your freezing touch.  And I don’t know if that’s good or bad. 

I’m your alarm clock.  I hold your wallet and your past.  I keep tucked inside my soul the number of the hospital room you were in for surgery.  I’m overflowing with your deepest secrets, protected health information and your high school mascot.  I’m good to fill out a form and not letting you fall (hard).  I sit next to you, stand beside you, lie beneath you – even in our darkest hours.  Answering every call, anticipating every text – knowing that when the next doesn’t come it’s because she is getting my reward for being a good wife. I’m there at 2 a.m. so that you aren’t alone.  I’m on the other end of the line at all hours of the night when she is busy.  In my head this is more than I’ve had.  Each song you send me is filled with confused hope of normal.  You kiss me goodbye as I walk you to the door following secret rendezvous couplings in the dark where you act the part of loving husband.  In the morning you are not mine.  And I miss you.  But I hate you with love so deep and passionate that even Homer couldn’t put it into words.

What’s it like for you in there?  Do you think of me too?  Do you look at me and see a ghost or do you see corporeally?  Is touching me a dream come true?  Or am I just another thing to use and place upon a shelf?  I see love in your smile sometimes.  I pray that you’ll realize the greatness of the family we have built.  I’m on my knees behind doors closed screaming to God prayers that you’ll put down your weapon, back away from her slowly and decide not to commit this heinous robbery.  I’d tell you that it’s not too late to walk in the door and start moving forward again.  But I’d be whispering into the winds of a hurricane. 

My Adventures In Home Repair

Recently, I took a trip to the library to procure some literature on DIY Home Repair & Improvement.  My goal is to purchase this home in the next year and make it my own.  Home ownership comes with interesting challenges and the opportunity for a whole world of new experiences.  Being a newly single woman I've never done some of this stuff before and so I'm learning as I go.  I'm going to share with you some of the highlights of my "entertaining" moments.

1.  I opted to paint my 8 & 4 year old sons bedroom while they were with their father over winter break.  I'm the type of woman that needs to keep my hands busy when I'm upset.  I clean a lot when I'm angry or have something on my mind. My projects are equal to the magnitude of what's going on in life.  6 days away from 2 of my kids resulted in a 12 x 11 bedroom painted "Aruba" blue (2 coats), new posters purchased and hung, the set up of a play table & chairs as well as laundry sorted, folded and hung (for both boys).  And I did it by myself.  When painting anything, especially a bedroom, there are essential things that you need to know.  First, paint tape is a life saver.  It's pretty and blue and helps cover things you don't want to paint.  And it's the biggest pain in the ass.  Almost not even worth the hassle.  I do the trim, the light sockets/outlets, ceiling, around the door.  It would have been more effective if I'd have used regular masking tape.  The only difference was about $2 a roll.  I bought this nifty edge paintbrush that basically eliminated my need for this nonsense.  I discover this AFTER I'm done with the tape.  Ugh.  Second - Brushes are muy importante (hey, if I am going to be in the hardware section of any major chain hardware store as a Mexican I should be speaking the language!)  I chose some sponge pad type brushes as they cover a larger area more evenly.  Third - a paint stick.  FYI - An old spatula works just as good in a pinch.  And of course - PAINT!  Finally I suggest ventilation.  Sure, it says so on the side of the paint bucket.  But damn!  I was angry and I needed to paint and it's winter.  So I glossed over this little tidbit.  Boy did I pay the price.  For a week I sounded like Marge Schott.  New Kids on the Block and the Backstreet Boys are also critical to the process.  You must dance, step in paint and not realize it, and track your smooth moves ALL over your children's bedroom floor.  ;-)  I give it a simplicity rating of 4. 

2.  Toilets/drains.  I understand the purpose of a plunger.  Clogs happen and fortunately I know how to combat this problem!  So when I walked by the toilet in the bathroom in my bedroom and saw that the water was gone from the bowl I knew that there was a clog.  Can someone explain to me why I flushed it anyway?  Like somehow I was going to magically fix it with a flush.  HAHA!  The Oldest (my sarcastic 14 year old son) and I (holding my 4 month old daughter) watch helplessly as the toilet starts to overflow.  Calmly I ask the water to stop.  I said "Please".  I even used my sweet "give me what I want" voice.  But the water continued to flow.  Soon my bathroom was under an inch of freezing cold toilet water.  Then it ventured into the adjoining rooms - the other bathroom and my BEDROOM.  It even made it into my closet, under my dresser and bed... It wouldn't stop.  What the hell?  How much water is going to flow?  Seriously, doesn't it normally stop at some point?  Oh yeah - this toilet runs every once in a while.  So I take the lid off the back and go to jiggle the handle and some chain breaks.  Something tells me that this really isn't good.  It surely did not stop the water from continuing to flow in places it shouldn't.  At this point I just start getting acquainted with the inner workings of my toilet's guts.  Suddenly, as if to mock my feeble attempt at repair, a hose comes loose and goes into double time to continue to drench me in water.  By this time I have quite an audience - all 4 children are now in awe of the river that is taking over our home.  The Youngest Boy starts a dance.  The Middle Son begins the barrage of questioning the origins of the water, the timeframe in which the water is going to cease it's relentless flow and if I can make dinner now.  I love kids.  I am arbitrarily pulling and pushing thingamajiggy's in the tank and swearing at each one of them when they do not result in the immediate end of the flow.  Finally I found a whatsit that actually got the water to stop.  Trouble is - I have to hold it.  But I need to start soaking up the water.  And hold the baby.  And call someone.  I managed to wedge a small clothes hanger into the whateveritwasIwasholding and was able to call my landlord.  After using the words "sumthinerother", "thingy" and "hoogeemawhutsit" he determined that he was unable to walk me thru it over the phone.  A few minutes later his wife was at the door with their teenage daughter.  She contacted her husband and I was relieved to learn that she didn't know what the heck she was talking about either.  So she then called her brother in law who just gutted a toilet himself.  And a half an hour later he and his wife joined us in my teeny tiny bathroom.  For good measure the landlord himself came to help as well.  If we would have had a beer in our hands it looked much like a scene from King of the Hill complete with "Yep".  A short time later I was informed the the toilet was clogged.  In seconds the toilet was unclogged.  It was explained to me that this one thing came off this other thing and there's a trick to it if it happens again.  My intelligence quotient suffered several hits.  Difficulty rating of 714. 

3.  Doorhandles and the value of percussive maintenance.  The Oldest's bedroom doorhandle has been sticking as of late.  Sometimes it takes him several minutes to get out of his room.  I'd been meaning to repair that but I haven't gotten to this particular chapter in my Do It Herself handbook.  In the interim I ask him to just not shut his door.  So of course he closes it!  No screws on the outside of the door or handle.  Fortunately, the cat was NOT in his room leaving him free to shit on the hallway floor.  In a moment of not knowing what the hell else to do I just hit the knob with a hammer until it's head fell off.  It rolled to the floor and ceased to exist.  This may come as a shock to you but it didn't help.  Actually, it seemed to make matters worse.  The door really wasn't opening.  What's a girl to do?  You hit it again!  And again.  And again.  Take my advice - all the pent up aggression you have towards your vile, venomous soon to be former mother in law and give it to that dastardly doorknob that is obviously in cahoots with her.  Smash it.  It helps.  Okay - what it helps is NOT the doorhandle.  Sure, you *feel* better but the door is still not opening.  Compose yourself for just a minute and realize the humor of the situation.  You would have thought that the contents of the room were pivotal to the second coming of Christ with the way The Oldest acted.  My STB ex (who has been a complete doll lately) offers to walk me thru the process to get the door open.  I sent some pictures of my stellar accomplishment with my hammer and he responded with suggesting I put the hammer down.  And leave it there.  He offered to come by and fix it for me.  Sure, I should probably learn how to do this on my own.  But again, I'm not to the chapter that covers what to do with a doorknob after you've knocked the piss out of it.  However, The Oldest has other ideas.  Until about 4:30 a.m.  He chiseled at the doorknob.  I wake up to find a pen sized screwdriver, a kitchen knife, a phillips head screwdriver, a Nintendo DSi stylus, a pencil, the knife sharpener and my (now) bent hammer littering my hallway along with chunks & bits of the doorknob.  The door is still tightly closed with a smug look on its face as if waving a middle finger.  In between relentless hammering and stabbing of the doorknob The Oldest breaks for rounds on the Wii and Facebook and to bitch at me about the door.  And he hates living here.  Our old house didn't have broken doorknobs.  He never got locked out before!  Ugh.  I resigned to let Ex Douchebag fix the doorknob (which has evolved to a metaphor for his relationship with The Oldest) but The Oldest was determined.  26 hours later the doorknob succumbed to The Oldest's violence.  It was pronounced dead at about 3:00 p.m.  Decorative duct tape has replaced the doorknob.  Moral of the story: Don't get all medieval on a doorknobs buttocks.  Difficulty rating: 8 - mainly because I missed with the hammer a few times and got straight air and it made me look stupid. 

I'm sure more home improvement nightmares will fall into my lap.  Of course I will share.  Remind me to tell you the one about The Youngest Boy & the On Star.  :-)