Here, look at this:
What’s that duck doin’ in your bath tub, Holly?
Well, what do you do in the bath tub?
Though, I suspect, and, well, correct me if I am wrong (And do not bathe at my house) you probably don’t poop in the tub. Ah, well. That’s Bill and she’s the more vocal of our ducks. She’s…aaaaaaaah nuttier than squirrel shit, but a sweet girl, really. Ducks in the tub. If you had told 18 year old me that, she would have smirked.
Pretty routine occurrence around here, as is the fact that I’ve got five dogs snoozing around my feet. Six year old me would have cheered.
What’s not is, Aidan, Thomas and I are barky-o-coughing. Summer colds are no fun, particularly when you’ve got a chicken pen to build and the last of the planting to be done. Hello, dingbat, this is the last week! What’s yer damage?
I don’t really know. I do know watching others have to re-plant due to rot kinda mellows me a little, yet something in my type a freakout brain is screaming: this shoulda been done already! Here we go again, nine million tomato plants, jeezobeans, lady, I hope you’re ready to put up a ton of spaghetti sauce.
I’ve suddenly taken a keen interest in the weather and right now, with unseasonably cool temperatures here in Missouri: on the pull out couch, sick, with two sick kids is the last place I want to be.