I don't know that I've blogged much about it this week, but I've been stuck in the house all week long with sick kids. Then on Thursday Andy and I were both sick. Well, at least one of us got a sick day. The other one went to work. Figure it out.
Anyway, we are all better now but this morning we were standing in the kitchen fixing breakfast with clutter and mess and screaming whining children everywhere and Andy announced that he was going out to cut the grass. I rolled my eyes and uttered "lucky dog" under my breath. He said "You want to trade?" YOU BETCHA! I've always told him that he has NO idea what it's like to try to get chores done with three kids underfoot because any time he has chores to do, i.e. cutting the grass, he just goes and does it. No biggie. And it gets done.
So I told him that I'd leave him a list of things that needed to be done inside, and I'd go out and cut the grass. I was thinking to myself how great it would be. I'd get sun, exercise, listen to my iPod, not have to stop what I'm doing to wipe hineys, change poopy diapers or break up fights. How hard can it be to run a mower across a yard anyway?
So he came outside with me, started up the mower, we kissed and wished each other good luck and off I went. It was around 8 am. Not too hot. Not too sunny. Kinda nice. I started in the back yard. Up and down, pretty flat, no trees. I was jamming to Joss Stone and kinda dancing as I went, humming along. Not bad at all! I chuckled as I imagined the scene inside.
By the time I got to the side yard it was warming up. And things weren't so flat anymore. My hands were starting to go numb from the vibration of the mower. I was starting to get a blister. Ok...not so much fun anymore.
I got around to the front yard and HOLY MAJOLE it was HOT. You could have cooked an egg on the side of my face. I was drenched. Now my hands AND feet were numb. The insides of my palms were one giant blister. I swear a pack of hornets was following me around and people driving by in front of the house were shaking their heads in pity, wondering what kind of jerky would make his wife do such slave labor. I wished I was wearing a big sign that read "He's inside doing laundry!"
Anyway....I was determined to finish. By the time I got to the last patch on the other side of the house I could no longer even hear my iPod over my screaming and cursing...."This ^&*@^&* yard is a !^&@^&** !^&*@^& to cut...I'm !&8@&*** DYING here!!!" I was covered in so much grass stuck to my sweaty numb limbs that I looked like a Chia pet.
When I finally managed to crawl inside, I saw Andy humming as he was finishing wiping up the kitchen. Kids were all working together in the playroom to clean it up, there wasn't anything out of place. Dang! No one was vomiting or pooping. What the heck? "How'd it go?" he cheerily asked.
"Phsk." I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. "Piece of cake."
And then I collapsed.
So I've decided that I really don't mind unloading the dishwasher and folding clothes and sweeping and mopping and wiping hineys. Because I get to do it all in the comfort of air conditioning. And I've never had to go to the emergency room afterwards.
My man deserves a freakin' parade next time he goes out to do yard work.