Showing posts with label yardwork. Show all posts
Showing posts with label yardwork. Show all posts

Sunday, July 26, 2009

The son of a bitch is running his chain saw now

Under misguided assumption, the husband and I continue to try to sleep in on Sunday mornings, because someone, somewhere once told us, "Sunday is a day of rest." I think it was God.
Our neighbor with the nice yard, but bags under his eyes, wakes us up every weekend. This morning, to the lovely sound of a chain saw. You have to wonder with the list of things he probably had written down on his "Yard work I want to get done today" list, why is chain sawing on the top of it?
"It's 10 o'clock in the morning, shouldn't he be at church or something?"
You could tell the dog was pissed too, she finally found a comfortable spot after looking for it all night. It was a particularly restless night for all three of us. And we were content to sleep away the bright sunny day. The husbands restless leg syndrome was in full swing last night, the kids were out late and I drank too much ice tea earlier in the evening. Some kind of critter was roaming around the backyard, being the dog of the house, Buckeye has to check out every sound and bark at it, this includes children coming home later than they should. They were totally busted.
The day didn't turn out to be a total loss, the neighbor with the nice yard and bags under his eyes finished his "Yard work I want to get done today" list, is sitting right now in said yard to enjoy it and a thunderstorm is rolling in.
I think it's God's way of saying, "Dude, let thy neighbors rest."

Friday, June 12, 2009

Apparently I'm anal about my perennials

The Project Manager aka the husband has taken on the responsibility of organizing a work force to clean up the yard. I am in charge of the flower beds that go around the house because apparently I'm anal about my perennials. That is only because there is not enough Weed Be Gone on the planet where the husband is concerned, he's spraying it everywhere. If it isn't grass he's killing it. I'm afraid to let the dog out.
When the husband takes on a project the boys scurry around like frightened mice, trying to find an exit plan. I've blogged about this before - here. So far they've been unsuccessful. They have the glamorous job of preparing the other flower beds for mulch.
"There's poison ivy in there you know."
"That's not poison ivy."
"Then rub it on your arm."
"It's not poison ivy." And he walked away.
Showing up the Project Manager is frowned upon and I'm hoping later in the board room I get fired.