|Irie! I hit 101 posts! Isn't that exciting?!|
"Woo. I'm cavorting...inside"
So hey! I
I crossed enough things off my spring/summer to-do list that we're down to 101. Not kidding. I get very excited about lists. I live for lists. If I could write "make list" on a list without looking like a total control freak..I would.
Some of the projects on the list are enormous, so require a ton of steps. I'm justifying my list OCD, aren't I?
I'll get a photo of a list for you, with its subcategories and all. If you make fun of me, I'll make a list of things you could do to improve your personality. Don't think I won't. ;)
We're having the Junk Guys come and remove any scrap lumber, etc, so yesterday's project was gathering said junk and placing it in one spot. Right now, it's my Spot of Shame.
If you have property and/or a giant project list, you know you have a Shame Pile.
I wanted to cover it with tarps. Plant shrubs around it. Michael rolled his eyes a lot and muttered "It will be here for two days."
While moving the scrap wood from point A to B, I found a TON of garter snakes! Not 101, but it felt like it.
First we found sheds..I got very excited.
Michael got "very excited" as in hyperventilating and running.
(I will never pick on him for his snake fear, when grasshoppers and June bugs can make me run screaming...it's the clingy feet!)
Michael: OMG WHY!? Why do you have to TOUCH everything!?
Little snake was saying the same thing:
|"I will kill you! I will devour your giant red man-hand!"|
Michael's shadow is in the far right. I swear he doesn't have chicken legs, nor his he wearing a skirt. Granted, I probably wouldn't admit if my Beloved was a skirt wearing, chicken legged man.
|Pre-shed...see the eye covered?|
Once again, Michael said nothing but he had That Look.
101 reasons Michael is Ultimate Husband:
Michael is getting breakfast in bed today. French toast, for which I got up at 5 am to bake bread..maple cured bacon from our amazing butcher..fresh squeezed orange juice..
Why? He didn't murder me, or even get angry with me:
The motion-activated sprayer doesn't differentiate between garden pest and husband when you send him outside to grab your sunglasses. At 1 am.
Nothing says "I am so sorry you got blasted in the crotch with ice water" better than breakfast in bed.