My Project Manager

Of course there are two ways to look at the husband who likes projects — with amazement and awe, as in “Oh honey, I’m so lucky to have a fabulous hubby like you who takes care of everything” or with fear and resignation, as in “Ahhh crap, here we go again!!”.  Mine lies somewhere in the middle, as in “Great idea! (heavy sigh). Shame it will take F^%$#ING FOREVER to be finished”.  

As I type, I can look out the window and see the huge pile of branches, sticks and clippings that now block the way from the front door to the car  and cover most of our front yard. It was sunny this weekend and my hubby, full of enthusiasm and clippers in hand, decided to do a little trimming.  Sadly, and not surprisingly, the project plan didn’t included anything other than chop, chop, chop.  Clearly the garden gnomes, cousins to the dish fairies, were to be on the clean-up crew.  No surprise that dusk came all too quickly and then it rained all day Monday and is snowing today — not sure who Mother Nature is trying to piss off more — him or me.  So bottom line, the stuff is all now all over the place, I have to get to the car via the street, and experience tells me that it probably won’t look any different a week from now.  Well, at least the bags of seed and fertilizer and other yard bits that have been sitting there for a month will have company. They’ll need it, ’cause he’s already talking about digging up the back yard.  

Someday I’ll post pictures of us on our wedding day on his “restored” (wink wink) wooden sailboat. These are some of the captions: “Oh can someone just grab that piece of sandpaper that’s stuck to my dress … careful not to step in the varnish … don’t worry that’s just chipped paint, it won’t stain …”


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