Ow.Ow.Ow.
So, darlings, how was your weekend?
Me, I hauled out the little personal tiller on Saturday and opened a big ole can of whup-ass on the vegetable bed. Sadly, I seemed to come out on the receiving end of the session. The nice thing about my tiller is that it is light weight and I can wield it with reckless abandon on thing weedy and soily. The bad thing about it is that it is light weight and leaves me feeling like I have been used with reckless abandon by a jack-hammer. Regardless, much compost (last year's horse shit) has been forced to mingle with good-old Wisconsin clay, for the good of the growing. I still have some more compost to till in and a lot of top soil to add, but the top soil will be an ongoing process, over the years. Basically, one more "easy" till and I can stick in the plant babies. If it ever stops frosting at night. I also hauled lots of heavy things like compost and concrete blocks, from point A to point B and back, in the wheelbarrow.
Sunday morning, I was not a pretty sight, even from my own low morning standards. Now, I must say, sheepishly, that I am a conditional morning person. As long as I can have quiet, a hot cuppa something, a leisurely nosh, and either quality time with the computer or a book, I can cheerfully rise with the sun.
Sadly, sometimes I rise with the son.
To whit: Yesterday morning. A Sunday morning, for Pete's sake.
We have our beaten and broken heroine sleeping without visible signs of life.
4:30 AM: Her adored husband wakes, gets up and leaves the room, quietly shutting the door and taking the dog with him.
5AM: Suddenly, loudly whispered tones of "MOM! GO AHEAD AND TAKE A NAP FOR A LITTLE WHILE! IT IS NOT MORNING YET!" penetrate her consciousness. These words are accompanied by a head with bed-hair not 3" from our heroine's nose. He then exits stage right, leaving the door open. The dog, of course, takes it as an open invitation to make sure that I am not really dead, just pretending to be so, and sticks her extremely long and pointy (and cold and wet and ?loud?) nose in my face. I swing my crippled arms uncoordinatedly at the nose and it finally disappears as I manage to roll over to the middle of the bed. Sadly, the curtains had been left open, letting the newly risen sun shine in at the perfect angle to ricochet off the dresser mirror to the center of the pillows. Sun so bright that not even a large pillow over the head keeps its rays at bay.
I know when I am beaten.
Me, I hauled out the little personal tiller on Saturday and opened a big ole can of whup-ass on the vegetable bed. Sadly, I seemed to come out on the receiving end of the session. The nice thing about my tiller is that it is light weight and I can wield it with reckless abandon on thing weedy and soily. The bad thing about it is that it is light weight and leaves me feeling like I have been used with reckless abandon by a jack-hammer. Regardless, much compost (last year's horse shit) has been forced to mingle with good-old Wisconsin clay, for the good of the growing. I still have some more compost to till in and a lot of top soil to add, but the top soil will be an ongoing process, over the years. Basically, one more "easy" till and I can stick in the plant babies. If it ever stops frosting at night. I also hauled lots of heavy things like compost and concrete blocks, from point A to point B and back, in the wheelbarrow.
Sunday morning, I was not a pretty sight, even from my own low morning standards. Now, I must say, sheepishly, that I am a conditional morning person. As long as I can have quiet, a hot cuppa something, a leisurely nosh, and either quality time with the computer or a book, I can cheerfully rise with the sun.
Sadly, sometimes I rise with the son.
To whit: Yesterday morning. A Sunday morning, for Pete's sake.
We have our beaten and broken heroine sleeping without visible signs of life.
4:30 AM: Her adored husband wakes, gets up and leaves the room, quietly shutting the door and taking the dog with him.
5AM: Suddenly, loudly whispered tones of "MOM! GO AHEAD AND TAKE A NAP FOR A LITTLE WHILE! IT IS NOT MORNING YET!" penetrate her consciousness. These words are accompanied by a head with bed-hair not 3" from our heroine's nose. He then exits stage right, leaving the door open. The dog, of course, takes it as an open invitation to make sure that I am not really dead, just pretending to be so, and sticks her extremely long and pointy (and cold and wet and ?loud?) nose in my face. I swing my crippled arms uncoordinatedly at the nose and it finally disappears as I manage to roll over to the middle of the bed. Sadly, the curtains had been left open, letting the newly risen sun shine in at the perfect angle to ricochet off the dresser mirror to the center of the pillows. Sun so bright that not even a large pillow over the head keeps its rays at bay.
I know when I am beaten.
Labels: The Life Rural, The Small-Handed Ones
posted by Diana at 9:28 AM
18 Comments:
What was that you said??? Jeff got up at 4.30 and left w the dog? As in, that's something that usually happens? And you woke up at 5 am? YOU POOR WOMAN!!!
I have recently come to love mornings. Even though I am a night person, becoming suddenly awake by sunset even if I've felt knackered all day, I feel much better if I wake up early and start studying then (Ed. Note: Writer probably means she'd feel better if she actually got round to doing some studying regardless of the time). But 7.00 is as early as i go and then only bcs classes start at 8 and I try to keep the same schedule on weekends.
Hey look, a journal. Sorry abt that. I'm just shell-shocked.
"Sadly, sometimes I rise with the son." - PRECIOUS.
You neglected to mention that since you were forced to get up so early you were able to clean the house from top to bottom, plant another 100 plants, bake twelve dozen oatmeal cookies, change the oil in your car, and go on a llama ride.
You did do all that, right?
Lioness- I do love the "new" smiley photo. (whispers discretely: Is "Jeff" how they say "Charles" in portie? giggle, tease, giggle, shhhh.) Sadly, you and Charles could share a bed and never see each other as he falls asleep before 9 (or 8 or sometimes earlier) and often wakes by 1 or 2 AM! depending on his stress level. The latest he sleeps is around 5AM, so 4:30 is quite good, actually. Often I get to "sleep-in" to the late hour of 6:30 or even 7AM on a weekend morning, so not too bad!
Rozanne- You know it! Actually, cleaned and mopped the garage as the house was already completely spotless, what with the kids, large dog, and my love of housework drudgery. Then I milled my own flour from my own home grown and personally hybridized wheat and made pancakes for all my adored ones. Then planted those 100 plants, etc, etc, etc...
Or maybe I slugged around until the sweet caffeine hit, went to Madison with la familia and did exotic things like grocery shop, came home, got in some exercise and made my first ever successful homemade pizza a la Jamie's blog entry on the subject of last week. Pizza makes most everything better.
Ah early mornings...
Yes they can be depressing, but could you imagine being awaken by anything sweeter by your own child's tossled head of bed-hair?
Who the hell is Jeff?? I don't even KNOW any Jeffs! Sorry abt that, don't even know how to begin explaining it.
"never see each other as he falls asleep before 9 (or 8 or sometimes earlier)" - ah yes, right around the time we have dinner in Portugal, how convenient. 1 am, at which time I go to bed. Yes, I see how we could miss each other.
Gerah, yes: being woken up by the kids' weekedn nanny saying "Sssh, it's ok Miz Diana, you can sleep in till 9 today, I'll provide the entertainment."
When I lazily crawl outta bed this Saturday morning, I will think of you and take an appreciative moment for reflection. :-)
Ooh! Pizza does make everything better, doesn't it? So glad it helped. I bought ingredients for a sauce-and-cheese one this time. :-)
I would have been near-homicidal after being woken up like that...at THAT hour. Yikes.
Gerah- That is the only thing that makes it OK. Good thing they are adorable. Good thing the dog is adorable. That is why they live to do it again. I know you share the pain.
L- Yes, that would be better. Quite. With fresh squeezed OJ and baked goods at 9AM. (Actually, I am not sure if I CAN sleep that late. I am pleased with 7.) Really curious now who this Jeff you are channeling is.
Cagey- Savor it. It won't come back for many, many years.
Jamie- MmmmBOY! Was that pizza good. I think I will have to make more this weekend. LI hand wrote the instructions into the pizza section in my "bread bible".
Mopping the garage!!!! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!!!!
That's a good one!
Sad thing is I actually know someone who mops their garage, yes seriously Mops their garage. We were over there for a bridal shower and we were hanging out in the garage facing the street, (apparently all people in suburbs do this now, no more back yard who needs all that grass and stuff, they have a garage) anyway, someone spilled soda or beer or something and they broke out the mop. Now at first I thought this was because there were people over but no.... she said they mop it once a week!!!!!
*Clears throat*
The Board would like to bring this surprising lack of posting to your attention. It's simply not done. Fix it. Thank you.
Mojavi- That is just beyond sad. I am completely nonplussed. They make pills for that, you know. Stuff like Lithium and such.
L- (clears throat) That would be because I have been sending out multiple e-mails tonight, with photos, including one TO YOU, you cow! I will try to throw something up tomorrow. Plus, the vegetables that are to be grown in the garden must actually be planted in the damn garden. And there are toddlers. And husbands. Not to mention 6-year-olds. And dinners to make and cleaning to do. And my mother-in-law is bunking here, as she is quite sick with a nasty bronchitis. Now, don't you feel bad? Didn't think so. No compassion. Good night.
THAT is your excuse?? Oy.
[Cow?! She called me a cow! The Llama Stalker's called me a cow! oh the audacity!
Twat.]
I stand by my words, but will plant various squashes in your honor.
:DDDDDDDDDD
Do it in a Star of David pattern please, am feeling patriotic today. And they'd better be blue! Much obliged.
L- If you use your imagination and some die, a Star of David will appear. If it happens, we will take it as a sign. The green ones may sort of look blue. At night. If you squint.
Oh I squint. Have CD8 permanently embedded in my cornea.
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