What is that man doing?

Last weekend was admittedly a bit trying for us. We started Saturday morning off with a requisite super-great trip to Home Depot. (We were getting bored at Lowes.) We spent a long time there and spent so much money my head hurt. One of the items we rolled away with was a contractor’s package of chair rail. Rolling it through the store was interesting, but getting it home was more so. As Michael was trying to strap it to his truck, a little boy came walking out of the Depot with his dad. “What IS that man DOING?”, he kept asking his dad while pointing. I was asking that very same question. I was at least polite enough not to point. My mama taught me well.

We actually made it back to the House safely and without police escort.

Later that day Michael installed our new outdoor light and dropped a piece of the glass, shattering it on the porch. I am told that the look on my face was not one of happiness and that the tone in my voice was a little frightening. A little later in the weekend I was attempting to fix up the boring and cheap vanity in the master bathroom. It didn’t work. It didn’t want paint, it didn’t want sanding, it didn’t want to be fixed. So I destroyed it. That will teach it to disobey me.