He Was Right

It's my husband that likes the lawn, really. I've mentioned before, I'd be happy living in an apartment. We both, however, agree that it's nice for kids to have some of their own grass to play on. We both did and look - we turned out awesome. We are not awesome at yard work, though, and put it off as long as we can, despite The Swede's insisting that it's "cozy". Not cozy enough to actually perform yet this year, however.  Today I had had enough of dandelions and I made myself go out and cut the grass, trim the edges (which are more plentiful than I care to mention considering the size of our truly tiny plot of land), sweep the porch and walkway and stone pathways, and rake up the clippings. The whole time I was being bitten through my clothes by mosquitos and trying to come up with something sassy to say to my husband, who was out fishing, about how much cozier I am than he is even though every minute was awful. I'm competitive like that. But now I'm done and I'm inside blogging and drinking a glass of red, Jamie is upstairs in bed, having thankfully slept through all that weed-whacking, I'm scratching my numerous bug bites, and the knowledge of what I just accomplished is just about the coziest thing I can think of.