I am in el-oh-vee-ee.

About a month and a half ago we were in Charleston for various and sundry reasons, and I insisted we swing by Target, since it's been about a year since I've been to one (feel sorry for me?).

I wanted, specifically, to pick up some Seventh Generation laundry soap and give it a try, because I've heard good things about it.  Like, it's good for Mother Earth and whatnot.  So I picked up a bottle (dude, $15, it was effing expensive) but it smelled soooo damn good.  And seriously - it was excellent at actually getting dirt out of our clothes.  These girls are messy, so that's saying something.

I ordered a case - six bottles - of it from Amazon.  And some Method fabric softener, which smells nice without being overpowering.  I'm using a Downy ball since we our machine doesn't have a place for fabric softener (is that legal?) and I'm super impressed.  Our clothes are squeaky clean, and smell good, and we have enough laundry soap to last for, like, two weeks.  Plus, since I got it from Amazon with free shipping, it was pretty cheap (only about $2/per bottle than what I was paying).  It's ridiculous that I had to order laundry soap from Amazon, but whatever. 

Dirty hippie my ass, right?  Right.

Pretty, pretty floor

The kitchen floor is finished, and it's beautiful. I love it, and don't want anyone walking on it, so we'll have to get the kids some jetpacks so they can hover over the floor without actually touching it.

And no more fingerpaints on the kitchen floor. Or even watercolors. And we'll only eat things that are beige, in case something spills.

Life is grand.

Before


After

I am so, so tough

I've been painting my old office (blue, if you want to know -- I'll post pictures later).  Painting is nice.  Boring, but easy, and does not involve any sort of dangerously sharp implements.

Bryan has been working on ripping up the disgusting tile from the kitchen, and putting in linoleum.  I was helping last night, because I wanted to be involved.  And, you know, painting is boring, and I was getting a blister from the paintbrush.  Also, I was very excited about the fabulous new floor (I also have before and after pictures, but again, these will come later).

Anyway, he held up the flooring, and I was using this fancy-pants scimitar-looking cutter thing to cut away the excess linoleum.  But, I'm a clumsy fool, and missed the linoleum, and cut the shit out of my hand.

It's really not that bad, but I have a thing with the b-word.  Oh, man.  So disgusting.  And the b-word got, like, all over the place.  (I'm about to pass out writing this.  See what I mean about being so, so tough?)

It was deep enough, and I was freaked out enough, that Bryan rushed me to the emergency room.  The very nice lady doctors there decided not to give me stitches (which is too bad, because I would've felt way manlier if I had gotten some) but they put some steri-strips on there to close it back up.  And I got a tetanus shot for good measure.  All's well, but it hurts to type and to lift things (like a bucket of paint, for instance).

Bryan finished cutting the floor today, and needless to say I was not allowed to help.  I couldn't even watch, really, because I kept chanting "be careful! be careful! watch out!" and that got on his nerves.  Miraculously, he was able to cut the linoleum (and not any of his appendages) and finished that up without my help.

So, the floor looks, like, a million thousand percent better, and it was worth it.  Yes, cutting myself was unnecessary, but whatever.  That's the price of home-ownership, right?  Plus, a little bit of b-word-shed is a small price to pay for new flooring that rocks this hard.