Scraping Knuckles (literally)
My hand looks like I stuck it in the garbage disposal, turned it on, shook off the bloody mess, rinsed, and repeated. What, you ask, has caused it such messiness? It's called room re-arrangement and spring cleaning OUTSIDE.
It all started last week (or weekend to be exact). It's spring and that means the weeds have sprung. That also means if you are unfortunate souls like ourselves that currently own two homes (pray to the house selling Gods for me would ya? I need to sell the old house before the baby comes!), you must also upkeep two yards. And I thought this was bad in the wintery months when I was shovelling twice daily! Yard number 1 (officially now called The Old House)... is a glutton for weeds. Some of it is our landscaping of prairie grasses and fields of wildflowers and other prairie goodness that surround it, but others are just plain nature. What can I do if dandelions decided to take over the Earth?
So last weekend was Spring Makeover 2007 at The Old House in all its glory. I weeded. I turned beds. I mulched. I even pruned every bush that bordered the house. And all to my amazement with little nicks on the ole 'hands. That is, until I tackled the south side of the house. (Eyes are rolling here folks). Have you seen these picker weed things? The ones with wide long leaves covered in spines? Yes. Those ones. My hands were cut to no end from those just last weekend. All because I found a whole crop of them and was too pissed off to walk around to the garage for a decent pair of gardening gloves (that I have never before worn in my life).
That was only part one of the traumatic hand incident.
The plan was, really, to do all that spring landscape business LAST weekend, so that this current one (that just past) could be spent relaxing.
Ha!
Well in theory anyway. We tried. Really. But then a family all-or-nothing garage sale happened. And then the good ole' It's Sunday and I really feel like I am being a pregnant sloth, let's re-arrange the kiddo's room set in. And boy did it ever. We moved the bed against the wall in hope (of all hope) the kid will feel "safer" from falling off the bed (though he has never done it) and sleep in his room ALL night long. And then we moved the table to the far wall. And the night stand to near the bed. And--how could a mom forget--that prompted the entire toy re-arrangement. Which in and of itself could cause one a whole day or weariness.
I know you are asking. How did the right hand get chewed up and spit out yet again? Well, that would be the fault of our prickly walls. You know, that damn cheap spray paint crap that gives the walls some spines? Yeah. Try pushing a twin bed against the wall, changing the sheets, and rubbing one's knuckles along that shit. Not once. But say three times (and they say I never learn)! Yeah. Knuckle scraping 102.
So, yes. I wasn't meant to be a gardener. Or a home decorator. And let's even bring it a step further--not meant to keep a house in any fashion. Either that or the pregnancy is taking over every bit of common sense (and resting sense) that I have left. That "nesting" feeling I never got the first time around? Maybe it's taken over this entire pregnancy. Or I am just a klutz. You decide while I tend to mending my broken hand.
It all started last week (or weekend to be exact). It's spring and that means the weeds have sprung. That also means if you are unfortunate souls like ourselves that currently own two homes (pray to the house selling Gods for me would ya? I need to sell the old house before the baby comes!), you must also upkeep two yards. And I thought this was bad in the wintery months when I was shovelling twice daily! Yard number 1 (officially now called The Old House)... is a glutton for weeds. Some of it is our landscaping of prairie grasses and fields of wildflowers and other prairie goodness that surround it, but others are just plain nature. What can I do if dandelions decided to take over the Earth?
So last weekend was Spring Makeover 2007 at The Old House in all its glory. I weeded. I turned beds. I mulched. I even pruned every bush that bordered the house. And all to my amazement with little nicks on the ole 'hands. That is, until I tackled the south side of the house. (Eyes are rolling here folks). Have you seen these picker weed things? The ones with wide long leaves covered in spines? Yes. Those ones. My hands were cut to no end from those just last weekend. All because I found a whole crop of them and was too pissed off to walk around to the garage for a decent pair of gardening gloves (that I have never before worn in my life).
That was only part one of the traumatic hand incident.
The plan was, really, to do all that spring landscape business LAST weekend, so that this current one (that just past) could be spent relaxing.
Ha!
Well in theory anyway. We tried. Really. But then a family all-or-nothing garage sale happened. And then the good ole' It's Sunday and I really feel like I am being a pregnant sloth, let's re-arrange the kiddo's room set in. And boy did it ever. We moved the bed against the wall in hope (of all hope) the kid will feel "safer" from falling off the bed (though he has never done it) and sleep in his room ALL night long. And then we moved the table to the far wall. And the night stand to near the bed. And--how could a mom forget--that prompted the entire toy re-arrangement. Which in and of itself could cause one a whole day or weariness.
I know you are asking. How did the right hand get chewed up and spit out yet again? Well, that would be the fault of our prickly walls. You know, that damn cheap spray paint crap that gives the walls some spines? Yeah. Try pushing a twin bed against the wall, changing the sheets, and rubbing one's knuckles along that shit. Not once. But say three times (and they say I never learn)! Yeah. Knuckle scraping 102.
So, yes. I wasn't meant to be a gardener. Or a home decorator. And let's even bring it a step further--not meant to keep a house in any fashion. Either that or the pregnancy is taking over every bit of common sense (and resting sense) that I have left. That "nesting" feeling I never got the first time around? Maybe it's taken over this entire pregnancy. Or I am just a klutz. You decide while I tend to mending my broken hand.
