Friday, November 19, 2010

Leaf Me Alone, Dickie


There is a very big, very compelling, very justifiable reason why Kate loves summer and only summer. Because, beside her love of all things pool-oriented, particularly the spying part, her yard kinda majestically grows and flourishes and looks pretty and requires nothing from her but to 1) not disturb it; and 2) not to play Barry Manilow around the tomatoes.

Well, OK, it does mean mowing the lawn. But that's totally McLovin's job and he was offered a driving lawnmower with a cupholder and a plug in for his iPod, but he decided that he could use the work-out and bought a push mower instead and now I know he thinks about planting his keister on that John Deere seat and listening to some Elvis with a Coors Light while making really uneven lines in my yard. How's that workout working out for you, baby?

Winter means snow and shoveling. Thank you for all the pretty white stuff, but I'm Texas y'all, and where I come from, we visit snow. It's kinda like holding someone else's baby when you're done having kids. Cute and all and you get to smell them and enjoy them for a while, but once things get -- messy -- it's time to do the handover back to mommy. That's how I am with snow. Let me come visit, think it's pretty and then. go. away. Last year's Snowmageddon of 194 feet of snow and 23 days home from school for the IHPs just solidified my position that snow needs to stay in *other* places. Like Canada. Eh?

Spring is great and all, but - again, Texas - where my hometown averaged five to seven inches of rain A YEAR. It would rain HARD for about seven minutes and then the clouds would freakin' vanish like Justin Bieber dolls at Toys R' Us and then it would go back to being 187 degrees. Here, it rains for eight straight weeks. My geriatric gimpy beagle starts getting frantic about where's-the-girl-beagle-and-the-big-wooden-boat-already and my house and children and dog and clothes and just everything starts taking on the *moistness* (ugh, that is the worst. word. ever.) of --oh I have to stop. That word. It's right up there with *underpants.* Spring. Rain. That word. Enough said.

And, fall. Oh, Fall. You would be kind of awesome except for the leaves. While Lydia's trees prematurely ejaculate and are ready to be raked in September, Kate's are apparently taking Viagra and just. can't. get. there. It's November 19th and all of the leaves are still on the tree.  And, thanks to Dickie the Lawn Fairy, this has become Kate's problem. While Randy the Laundry Fairy regularly tortures Lydia and pretty much leaves Kate alone [Editor's Note: We think because the Laundry Fairy is afraid of Nanny, because she can totally kick his veloured a$$ - K&L]  Dickie comes calling on Kate every year, punishing her for her one request when she and McLovin bought their house: "I just want a really big yard with really big trees."

Oh, Dickie. You vicious little winged bastard. 

The point is, McLovin can't really mow properly until the leaves are gone. And I can't finish Day 12 on My Christmas List until all the mur.thur.fur.kin. leaves are out of the way. 

Here's the thing. My yard already has about fourteen thousand million one hundred leaves. [Editor's Note: That's Happy's official Leaf Tally. I asked him to go count. Mostly because before that he was trying to help type. This accomplishes nothing. Though he did manage to type the word "food" which I think was sort of cool. On the sixth page. Of single spaced typing. And then I went "OH! Look you typed food. Good for you. Get out of my chair. Kisses!" -Kate]  

My trees are like Godot. The leaves are still GREEN for cryin' out loud. And the leaves in my yard? Yellow. Umm, which of these things is not like the other? That I'm raking when my trees are still fully frocked? It's like they're determined to win some contest with the neigborhood trees as to who can hang on the longest. Congratulations, trees. You know what this means? This means I'm raking up the loser trees' leaves. And just when I'm done, you'll drop trou and give me a whole new batch to deal with. That's nice.

I've turned into a raking idiot. From the flower beds to the curb. We don't bag here. We drag all the little tree clothing carcasses out to the curb and this awesome sucking machine [that's what she said!] comes along and fwooooppps them up and it would be great but it hasn't come by yet and somehow the wind has visited twice and put them all back where I originally found them. Really? Can I just put them in a bag now?

The kids' toys are buried. I've stepped on the Razor scooter *twice* which was fabulous the first time when I was in heels and nearly fell over and broke my haunches, but even better the second time when I ran outside to toss something into the recycling bin and stepped on it barefoot, which caused it to lurch up and drive the handle into my thigh. And now it's in the recycling bin. Well, to be fair to the recently departed, he put up a good fight...spun around and caught me upside the shin. Which has now been attended to with a band-aid that looks like a piece of bacon. Because that's what people want on their open wounds. Raw pork.

[Editor's note: Excuse me? You have band-aids that look like raw bacon? Do such things actually exist? Why is this the first I'm hearing about it?  Bring them to my house right now! xo, Lydia]

Saturday is *supposed* to be order gifts day. It's now turned into Raking Up The Leaves Day. We've been told the leaf sucking machine will be here that afternoon. So, I'll go out for the third time and do a cage match battle with Dickie. That rat fink has beaten me twice. One more time and he's a dead fairy. And I think I have the perfect weapon.

It's hiding in the recycling bin.

(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2010

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