My sister and I used to share a car, and I was always amazed at the panache with which she would do car maintenance and repairs, like top off the oil and windshield-wiper fluid.

"Oh my God, you’re like a mechanic," I’d say, watching from our stoop as she strode purposefully from trunk to engine with mysterious bottles.

"It’s not hard," she’d inform me.

Maybe not. But despite the fact that I can negotiate a car purchase with terrifying efficiency, cook amazing meals that'd make Emeril Lagasse say "BAM!", and share the stage with male improvisers without fear, I was convinced that if I'd attempt such tasks, I’d somehow end up with oil spurting across my windshield on the New Jersey Turnpike.

But when I got a fix-it ticket last week and looked at our dwindling bank account, I knew I had to try a few simple car fixes, including fixing my broken tail light. And you know what? It wasn't hard. My sister’s right.

I hate when that happens.

Elin Nordegren's home before the wrecking ball hit.I think we can all agree that Tiger Woods' ex-wife Elin Nordegren isn't your everyday divorcee. And that's why I guess we shouldn't be surprised that there's still major fallout from her brutal, public split with the pro-golfer-slash-serial cheater. Elin seems to be taking pent-up aggression out on a house -- specifically, a $12 million six-bedroom mansion on the beach in North Palm Beach, Florida. She only bought it last March, but she's gone and knocked it down with plans to rebuild a TOTALLY DIFFERENT home on the property. TMZ says Nordegren has hired a high-priced architect, and every single worker is required to sign a confidentiality agreement.

Word is she didn't think the home was "modern" enough, but others speculate she's just doing it because she's so loaded, she can. I say there's more to the story than that.

I’ve got a houseful of stuff that works okay, but used to work better. Sound familiar? These days, between our overflowing landfills and dwindling bank accounts, household items need to last a lot longer than they do -- and DIY has gone from hobby to necessity.

Let’s face it, though: We’re not all Martha Stewart, or even the Home Improvement guy. Just ask my guest bathroom, which still lacks a new toilet-seat cover (it’s a work in progress). Thank goodness there’s a fun new option, then: When hot-glue cracks and crazy-glue can’t get a grip, now there’s Sugru, a Play-Doh-like silicone that molds like putty and dries like plastic.

It made Time magazine's “50 Best Inventions of 2010” list. But does it work? I tried it, and I have to say -- I’m a fan. It might be a thrifty mom’s best friend, and it’s fun to use!

It doesn't smell bad to meSo here's the good news, we just bought an awesome new house. One that's unique style perfectly matches our own. One that doesn't rely on stainless steel appliances to look cool, and one that I know we'll be able to live in for years to come. The bad news? Apparently we were so blinded (and lost our sense of smell-ness) by the multi-colored brick fireplace and ski lodge from the 1960s style dining area, and did not notice that the shag-a-rific carpet smelled like cat pee.

Yep, the previous owners had cats and I'm going to go out on a limb and say they were not fans of the litter box. And our dog doesn't like this either and shows her disapproval by peeing over the cat markers. Good times!

I made it my mission to solve this problem that many deemed unsolvable, and without ripping out all of the carpet and investing in very expensive wood floors. It took multiple attempts, but here's how our carpet finally lost its stinging cat urine smell:

My husband knows that before we make any major home purchase, there are two things I’m going to need: My drawer full of Bed, Bath & Beyond 20 percent off coupons, and my back-issues of Consumer Reports. My mom may not have taught me to keep the house clean or separate my laundry -- she’d rather be writing ... and who can blame her? -- but she did teach me to stretch my pennies 'til Abraham Lincoln looks like Gumby.
 
Consumer Reports is a non-profit organization that tests household products and rates them by durability and whether they’re worth the money you pay for them. They don't take ads, and they don’t care if companies get mad at them. So when it’s time to buy a vacuum cleaner and you want to know if Dyson really never loses suction, Consumer Reports is your impartial third-party, removing the hype from the infomercials.
 
And today (July 5, until 3 a.m. EST on July 6), they’re free.

We have a great friend named Marc who is a true DIY dad. He re-did his kitchen (like plumbing and all), he's refinished bathrooms, he's built furniture. He is the friend you always want around, the one you would almost pay to have around when you are re-painting as he does a professional-level job. Seriously, we have one wall in our apartment that looks awesome, while the rest are kind of so-so -- we call it the Marc Wall.

Marc is the dad of two amazing little ones, and his wife is always in search of cool tools, gadgets, whatnots to give him. Father's Day is no different, so I'm helping her find some fabu gifts that celebrate his DIY-ness!

I'm aging myself here, but did anyone else play that hand game, where you lace your fingers, point up your index fingers, and then open them up, saying, "Here is the church, here is the steeple, open the door, where's all the people?" and then redo it with your fingers on the inside? Well, sadly, our kids won't be able to do that ... as the church steeple is going the way of the dinosaur, the VCR, and Milli Vanilli. The steeple is slowly going extinct.

Are you curious as to why ... or maybe you kinda, really, sorta don't care?

We've all seen the feel-good news reports of toddlers calling 9-1-1, saving a life, which is beyond great. I'm sure I saw a story once about a cat dialing the emergency number ... maybe it was a dog ... or a hamster. Those newfangled devices in cars also call 9-1-1 when there is an accident. But did you hear the one about the house that dialed 9-1-1 ... for itself?

Yup, a house in Marblehead, Massachusetts dialed for help. It had toxic mold covering the walls, 5 feet of water in the basement, ceilings caving in, it was a disaster. So ... it called for help. Really. By itself. Let me go one step further to make this point: NO ONE WAS HOME.

All of those toddler-pet-car calling 9-1-1 stories: great, super, make me feel warm and fuzzy. House calling 9-1-1: creepy.

Anyone else thinking about Carol Anne and staying away from the light?