I never work outside.
Maybe it’s the bad childhood memories. My dad made us help with yard work and he wasn’t exactly pleasant about it.
Maybe it’s the dirt. I’m not a fan of dirt. Or bugs.
Whatever the reason, I’m not one of those women who mows the lawn and we have never had much in the way of landscaping, so I just don’t work outside.
But various flowers have come up in our new yard, planted by the previous owner, and Wayne has moved a few things around in an attempt to clean it up a little. Our neighbors have nice landscaping and we want our yard to look attractive, too. Recently I noticed an area with lots of weeds and made a mental note : the next kid who sasses me or says they’re bored will be sent out for weed duty, stat!
This morning Ben was bored, so I suggested weeding. He shocked me by agreeing to give it a try! He quickly lost interest, though, and later this afternoon I decided to finish the job myself.
Me, volunteering for yard work.
I thought how impressed Wayne would be. I was working outside! Getting dirty! Hanging out with spiders and worms and beetles, oh my!
I worked out there for an hour or so, until my cramped back and legs could take no more. I had gotten almost all the weeds. I was so proud.
Wayne came home from work.
“Did you see what I did?” I asked excitedly. He hadn’t noticed. I pointed out the area.
“I pulled the weeds! I did it myself!”
He peered out the window.
“Right there? I planted that. That was supposed to be the wildflower area.”
I pulled the things he planted.
In my defense, they looked bad.
I am never doing yard work again.