Apparently, nothing cures what ails me like ripping off baseboard.

Wahoo! It's as good as shredding entire heads of cabbage in my Cuisinart. I totally want a holster for the mini-crowbar I've been wielding.

Despite being married to a mechanical engineer, I am the family member who enjoys this kind of stuff. The hubs is capable, but doesn't get that surge of Mwahahahaha! when he hears the tiny shriek of the nails as they give way and the wood yields under his hands.

I don't find many opportunities to use power tools. Unless you count the blender. One memorable Saturday when I was a little beyond the edge of Crazy Crevice, my husband announced that he would spend the morning in the sunshine and fresh air, trimming the hedges, while I would clearly need to stay inside with my sick children and do laundry and wash dishes.

"Nuh-uh!" I hollered as I body-checked him into the wall on my way to the front door. "Me. Hedges. You. Kids." I disappeared into the garage and emerged with a swim mask and gardening gloves on and the chainsaw looking hedge trimmer. I turned and faced my bewildered husband, who was still standing in the front door, holding the baby, with the other two kids peeking around his legs. Apparently, I held the trimmer up, revved it a few times, and disappeared through the front gate. Also, he claims I had an ear to ear grin on my face and as I turned to go through the gate, he thinks I said "Suckah."

I don't remember that part, but...

Anyway, although I have a ton of work ahead of me this weekend, I'm looking forward to it. If you hear a bunch of "Wahoo-ing" coming from my neck of the woods, or see a short woman doing some sort of weird endzone dance while high on paint fumes, say hello. Or maybe run.

Because the Demolition Diva can't be held responsible for her antics, Suckah.