… mom, why is the front porch naked?
Ah, summer in The Other Dakota.
Wait — it’s only May. Why isn’t it still snowing? Or raining? Or at the very least, melting and flooding my basement causing me to fill the garage with various semi-soggy and slightly-damp crap and non-crap stuff from the overstuffed basement? It has been freakishly warm for the last few days. And while I am prone to hyperbole, this is NOT an overstatement. Today was in the 90’s. I kid you not. If I wanted weather like this, I would be in Arizona. Oh wait — the army decides where we live… never mind…
Thank GOD it wasn’t so freakin’ hot over the weekend. I was so proud of the Husband and myself. We were all kinds of grown up… tending to the yard with the mowing and the weeding and the planting and the weeding and the mulching and the weeding and the trimming and the weeding and the cleaning and the weeding and the weeding and the weeding. Did I mention that there was some weeding to be done? Between the crack quack grass and the insidious tree that seems bound and fucking determined to take over EVERYTHING including the cracks in the sidewalk (I don’t even want to THINK about what sort of rooting it’s got going on under the house, in the foundation, under the siding… it’s like that possessed tree in the first Poltergeist movie — you know, the one that was actually scary?) the weeding has been piling up. And that doesn’t include the iris bed that has been neglected since last summer, poor Dutch irises trying to push their way up under the fronds of death from last year that didn’t get cut down. Some are having more luck than others. The Boy finds this HILARIOUS.
“Look mom — they’re like accordians!”
Yup. They sure are. Smooshed, pale green accordians. I can hardly face those poor struggling fronds.
So as I was gardening my fingernails off, literally, and the kidlettes were making pretty pictures on the sidewalk and playing in the neighbors yard (they love her — she has a swingset. I love her. She has a swingset. She feeds them raisins. Of her own volition.) the Husband was removing the increasingly-dangerous lawsuit-waiting-to-happen railing-of-death from our front porch. I have no idea how old this wrought-iron railing was, but one of the main posts, as in THE main post that a person in need of support would grab onto for said support, had rusted through at the bottom footing. So, uh, yeah… no support there. Not to mention that the kidlettes have recently decided that they LOVE to hang onto the railings and swing like monkeys. I dare any thinking person to spend time with toddlers and then honestly deny the idea of evolution. I mean really. But back to the porch…
Apparently the Husband had put on his Grown-Up Socks that day, because not only did he mow the lawn, trim the edges, and vacuum the bits (yes, we occasionally vacuum the lawn. you should try it sometime. shop-vac instead of sweeping to clean everything up. Sounds insane, looks ridiculous while you’re doing it, but your lawn will look absolutely fan-freaking-tastically clean around the edges), he also took down the railing-o-death, took it APART, CLEANED THE PORCH, and THEN measure AND priced out new rails. ALL IN THE SAME DAY!!!!!
Yup, Grown-Up Socks. Two pair. Unfortunately, those socks ended up lying in the middle of the livingroom floor at the end of the day… apparently they lose their magical powers once they walk into the house. I wonder if the Boxer Shorts of Maturity are immune to such boundaries… and do they come in a three-pack?