Gardening, Sunburnt & Farting

It's the 1st day of spring and I'm burnt as usual - it was 69 today and we spent all day outside so I look like tomato woman. What do they say? An Englishman on a beach is like tinfoil in a microwave. I wish I had sun-loving skin but alas, I'm Persil white. I could have Scottish, Irish or Scandinavian ancestry I suppose. It doesn't matter - it all results in red and peeling skin. My poor Danny has it too. Talking of which - he LOVES golf and won't put the club down, even when I change his diaper. That makes for interesting hygiene, having a club shoved in your face when you have a handful of dirty wipes. I don't take it from him very often because (1) it would result in a meltdown and (2) it's funny.

 

Today Craig dug out the old stumps from the fence that blew down, dug bigger holes, re-installed new posts and put the fence back up. I'm in awe. I used to work like that, till my arms burned and I sweated pure salt, but now I really don't want to. I even thought for the 10th time today that I should ask neighbors if they have a teenagers we can pay 10 bucks an hour to work like a dog. I'm not lazy really, just over-worked. 

I'm not completely useless - I did dig out the compost heap and move it to my raised beds, so tomorrow I can fill it with new garden waste. And I have loads of cutting back to do. And lawn renovation. And mulching. Jack will help me follow me about, showing me worms and being a cute little helper. Bless.

This weekend hasn't been all work. We watched "A Matter of Loaf & Death" with Jack (he loved it), and I'm currently watching Monty Python's The Meaning of Life Part 7 "Death".  And the Buckeyes won - yea! But France won - Boo!   And toilet humor in my house is rather amusing at the moment. Between Jack pulling Craig's finger and his new book "Walter the Farting Dog" our toilet humor daily fix is met. It does seem bizarre to me that American adults are a bit embarressed about the whole affair and refer to it as "oopsie" or something equally ridiculous. Not my friends over here of course - they are equally appreciative of the odd trouser cough.  In England I think we have 100 words for it, all lovingly conjured up - bottom burp, trouser cough, fart, pump, let one off, barking spider, barking tree frog, let one rip, trump etc. etc. etc.  Not that I do anything of the sort of course.  As I tell Jack, "mummy's don"t fart". 

Happy Spring Everyone & Enjoy the Genius of Monty Python ...