Home Work

Yesterday was one of the most spectacular days ever in Dallas.  Probably to be matched only by today.  It was 57 degrees this morning when we woke up.  Fifty-seven!  That's half of what it was a month ago, ya'll.  Imagine.  And the high yesterday was 76.  In Dallas.  In September.  That nearly never happens.

So in honor of the beautiful day, after church we decided we would spend it outside. 

At a picnic, you wonder?  Or a park?  Or on a bike ride?  At a pumpkin patch?  At the State Fair?  

Watching the Cowboys whoop up on Houston?  (I just wanted to see that in writing.  A victory at last).

No, no, people, dream on.  Did you forget?  Or maybe you didn't know this plain and simple truth about me:  I am married to the most do-it-yourselferest (I know, not a word) person you'll ever meet.  Ever. 

We (he) do (does) all our own:  tiling, grouting, painting, landscaping, furniture-refinishing, hardwood-floor-laying, toilet-installing, staining, plumbing, cabinet-installing, ceiling fan hanging, drywalling, you-name-it-my-husband-does-it, anything. 

Get the point?

So the answer is no, we did not, in fact, spend one of the most spectacular days ever in Dallas doing any of those aforementioned fun family things like the park or a picnic, or riding a bike. 

We spent it working in the yard.

Now, I will go ahead and admit that there once was a time in my life where I actually enjoyed yardwork, but that was before:  a)  we had kids;  b)  we had kids;  c)  we had kids;  and d)  I made the most unfortunate discovery that I am highly allergic to poison ivy.  Highly.  Allergic.  In fact, just typing out the word makes me want to go get the calamine.

Because of these four things, when Chris now mentions yardwork, I put my fingers in my ears and say, LALALALALALALA.

Yesterday, however, he asked (accosted) me for help with the yard in the parking lot at church when my hands were full holding:  a baby, a diaper bag, one patent leather Sunday shoe left thirty feet behind us in said parking lot, and of course, a Bible.  So drat, I had no fingers-in-the-ears excuse.  And then I can't really tell him a white lie while I'm holding a Bible, right?  Plus there's the whole issue that we are hosting Caroline's first birthday at the house in two weeks.  As this party happens to be scheduled during the daylight hours, the multitude of "problem areas" of our backyard will not be disguised by a little gift I like to call darkness.

Therefore, I had no choice but to smile, nod, gnash my teeth, and agree to help him in the daggum yard.

My neighbor didn't make it any better by laughing at us as he walked by with his family on their way to the park, hollering out, "You know you can pay people to do that for you, right, Thomases?"  Grrrrrr....

So yes, that's how we spent our absolutely gorgeous day of rest.  Bent over at the waist, pulling weeds, digging flowerbeds, sweeping dust and dirt (dog hair), raking up leaves (dog poo), fixing sprinkler heads (pocked with dog teeth marks), trimming trees, skimming the pool, and throwing away ALL of my good intentions:  sidewalk chalk, bubble stuff, half-chewed dog toys, cracked flower pots, and dead plants. 

But you know what?  All that work means several things.  Number one, my hamstrings and glutes are very sore today which means, hooray, I got an unintended workout.  Number two, we now have a lovely backyard to which we can retreat tonight with a glass of wine and enjoy the cooler evenings.  And most importantly, number three, I got to spend some quality time helping my wonderful do-it-yourselfer husband, solving all the world's problems. 

Which we totally did.

And I am one step closer to being ready for that party.  In the daylight.

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