I’m not a scientist (nor do I play one on TV). And I haven’t done any scientific studies. But I’m pretty sure that the leading cause of divorce (right after infidelity and money problems) is home remodels. Cause, dude, I’m not totally convinced either Lee or I will make it out of this home remodel alive.

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.

I sit here a little teary-eyed thinking about your 18th birthday. Today you are officially a man. Legally able to make your own decisions. Face your own consequences. Vote (so go register)! Sign a contract. Get your own apartment. Buy your own car. Buy cigarettes (but please don’t). Gamble (in some states). Play the lottery. Join the military. Get married (but please wait). And more. It’s such a big, monumental occasion. I hope we prepared you well for whatever the future may hold for you.

I still remember, vividly, the first time I met you. You’re dad and I had just started dating and we were camping with some friends. Dad brought you out to the campground. You were just 13 months old. You had the cutest little cheeks and this little rolly polly belly. You’re foot was wrapped in gauze because, always curious and a risk-taker, you accidentally pulled a curling iron off the bathroom counter at your mom’s house. You toddled around through the grass, staying close to Dad, a little curious as to who all these people were. Curious who I was.

A few months later you moved in with us for a bit while your mom looked for a new place. I changed your diapers (although I mostly pushed that chore off to dad ’cause yuck ), worked with your mom to get you off the bottle and drinking out of a sippy cup, and even attempted potty training a time or two (although you were having none of it). I was young, and not nearly as patient as I should have been, but having you in my home was such an amazing experience. You were this adorable little boy with the most beautiful eyes and cutest blond hair. You had a smile that lit up a room and melted hearts. You would nuzzle with us on the couch (and then wake us up entirely too early). You would laugh with this most infectious laugh when we tickled you. And you loved to play basketball with that little toddler basketball set Dad bought you.

When Keaton was born you were an awesome big brother. You loved playing with him and (usually) were very good about sharing your toys. You were a protective big brother; loved to show him off and worried about him when he got hurt. Keaton couldn’t have asked for a better big brother and best friend!

When you were around four, you and your mom moved to Wisconsin. It was very sad for us. We missed getting to see you all the time. But before you started school, you mom let you come visit us for long stretches. And once you started school we tried to pack as much as we could in to holidays, Spring Break, and the summer. It was such a treat to get to spend that time with you; coloring Easter eggs, celebrating your birthday, watching the fireworks on the 4th of July, cheering you on in the annual kids run, seeing the excitement in your eyes on Christmas Eve and Christmas morning, going to Adventureland, Disney World, and the waterpark, watching movies in the theater and at home, and just getting to spend time with you. When I was pregnant with Caleb I took all of you kids to one of my early doctor appointments so you could hear Caleb’s heartbeat. You were just 9-years-old. I don’t think you (or any of the other kids) fully understood what that swish, swish, swish sound was, but it was an awesome moment for me to have ALL of you kids there. Even when you didn’t live here full-time you were always an important member of this family.

In sixth grade, your mom and dad decided to switch custody and you came to live with us. Words cannot express how thrilled we were to have you in our home full-time. For the first time in years we got to be a big part of your life. We were there to help you with homework. Attend your school events; conferences, track and field day, basketball games, and then later, football and golf. We got to watch you perform in band, playing your trumpet, and later we go to listen to you practice that bass guitar. And we enjoyed watching your faith grow as you were baptized and then confirmed. And you got to be a big part of all of our events; the kids’ birthday parties, Halloween, Mother’s Day, Dad’s graduation, Easter in Chicago with Grandma Cathy, plays at the local community theater, family dinners, etc.

We got to experience many firsts with you. I taught you how to drive (even though my heart did skip a little beat when you almost slid in to that handicap sign). We saw you through driver’s ed and then Dad got to take you to the DOT for you driver’s license. We got to see you play football with professionals at Tim Dwight’s football camp. When you had your first dates I was half tempted to secretly follow you to the skating rink and the movie theater (but I didn’t…I promise). We were thrilled to be able to send you on many trips, including church trips to New Jersey and Texas and your school trip to Washington D.C. And I was honored to have you accompany me on that trip to Chicago for that Ford event.

I’m not going to lie. Last summer when you decided to move back to Wisconsin, it was heartbreaking for us. And to be honest, I still feel like it was a bad decision and you were running away. Running away from our structure and our rules that [like any average teenger] you didn’t want to follow. I’m not going to apologize for coming down on you so hard. Or for doing everything I could think of to help you. I care about you. I worry about you. My heart breaks for you when I see you making decisions that you still can’t completely grasp how fully they will effect your adult life. But I also know that you have a wonderful, big heart and you are a very intelligent young man adult. And I have faith and I know you will overcome these bumps in your road and you will be just fine.

It has truly been an amazing 18 years. Thank you for allowing me to be part of your journey. Thank you for being truly the best stepson a stepmom could ask for. Thank you for everything from our screaming matches to our hugs and I love yous. I look forward to seeing where you go next and being a part of your future. I do now, and forever and always will, love you from the bottom of my heart. Happy 18th Birthday Justis! I wish you the best!

Love,
Christine

This Easter brought many mixed emotions for me. I love spending Easter with my family. Coloring Easter eggs. Making Resurrection Cookies. Searching for hidden Easter eggs. Seeing the smiles on the kids’ faces when they see their Easter baskets. It’s always a lot of fun.

But now that’s over. This year the kids informed me they no longer believe in the Easter Bunny. First no Santa. Now no Easter Bunny. What’s next? The Tooth Fairy? Next thing you know they’ll be telling me Diet Dr. Pepper isn’t for real.

We always spend Easter in Chicago with my mom. We hide Easter eggs around her apartment and the Easter Bunny brings the kids big baskets of candy and trinkets. We keep the baskets in mom’s hall closet to be used the next year and I usually bring the candy with me (’cause, yo, it’s expensive in Chicago dawg). But this year I was slacking. Lee and I ended up making a trip to the nearest Chicago suburb Target to get the Easter Bunny goodness.

On the way back to mom’s apartment Lee was commenting on how, as usual, I went a little bit overboard and spent a teeny bit too much money on Easter stuff.

“But this is probably the last year for the Easter Bunny,” I whined. “Last week Caleb asked me if the Easter Bunny was really the one who hid the eggs. I said, ‘What do you mean? Who else would hide the eggs?’ but I’m not so sure he was buying it. I think this might be the last year he believes.”

Lee looked at me and said, “Awww. That’s so cute…that you still think he believes.”

I never really thought about the day when my kids would no longer believe in the mythical creatures who make all the holidays so fun. And I definitely never imagined that day would creep up on me so quickly. Caleb is only 7-years-old. I am supposed to have several years left of Santa Clause, Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy. I’m not ready to give them up yet.

*sigh*

So I guess this is so long, Easter Bunny. It’s been a wonderful 15 years! I’m going to miss you! *sniffle*

As a child I saw many, many Broadway shows. My mom lived in Jersey and took me in to the city to see a show several times a year during my summer visitation. I LOVED it. Now, as an adult, I still have a great love for the theater. I’m no longer near a big city, but I catch a local performance whenever I can.

When Keaton was in junior high the local community theater was performing Big River. I got us a couple of tickets and took him to the show. He really liked it. And it brought back my fond memories from childhood. I decided we should see more shows together.

Eventually my mom and grandma decided to join us at some shows. It is so wonderful to spend an evening with Keaton, my mom and my grandma every couple of months. We meet up for dinner to catch up and then head over to the theater for a great show. Now we have season tickets and it’s become a bit of a tradition. We’ve even started to bring Skyler, Spencer, and Caleb to a few shows too. Theater is bringing the family closer together.

As contributors and season ticket holders we get to participate in a few member events throughout the year. Earlier this week the theater had such a member event. We got to go to the theater to watch a rehearsal for the upcoming show. It was in the middle of the week so mom couldn’t make it to town and Keaton had soccer practice. So grandma decided to bring two of her friends.

So there I was at the theater with three 80-year-old women whose hearing is starting to go and whose eyesight isn’t quite as good as it used to be. It was hilarious.

It was mostly older people at the rehearsal so, other than Grandma and her friends, I didn’t know anybody. But Grandma has lived in this town most of her life. She was a secretary at a local middle school for decades. And my grandpa was a sports writer for the local paper plus a sports coach. So Grandma knows pretty much everybody in town. She ran in to a couple she knows from church and flagged them over. She introduced them to me and her friends and the conversations went something like:

We just got back from Florida.

Oh, you live in Florida?

No, we were just visiting.

You’re visiting from Florida?

No. We live here. We just went to Florida for the winter.

Oh, so you don’t live in Florida?

No, do you live in Florida?

It took everything I had not to laugh out loud. Who knew a simple conversation about wintering in Florida could last so long.

After we determined that nobody actually lives in Florida, but everybody visits in the winter, we headed in to the theater.

About 15 minutes in to rehearsal I looked over at Grandma’s friend. Her head was down and she was…sleeping. Grandma nudged her with her elbow. Just then the actor on stage said, “Well I’m dead. Aren’t I?” Grandma’s friend perked up and said, fairly loudly, “What’s wrong with him? He has diabetes?” I tried to stifle a giggle, but, dude!, that was funny.

Half an hour later I looked over again. And? Yep. She was sleeping again. This time Grandma just let her be.

After they had run through the first act once, the director took a break. We took that as our opportunity to head home. After all it was going on 8:30. Way past bedtime for some.