I’ve figured out why I love working in the yard. I can spend the entire day spinning my wheels inside cleaning one room while Charming messes up another, or needs to go potty, or change another set of clothes, or get something to eat. I can make cookies and a lasagna and serve it for supper. Scrape the dishes into the washer and head outside.
In two hours time, while my kids are jumping on the trampoline, I can mow the lawn, plant a hydrangea, transplant three hostas (my neighbor cut down a couple trees, so now the “shade garden” is quite sunny) and plant two knock-out rose bushes. I can get in a visit with my neighbor and breathe fresh air. My entire yard looks better no matter from which direction you drive so the first impression is of a loved home.
And then I step in the door, trip over cars and three pair of underwear and notice the watermelon bowl is still on the table along with the chunks of lasagna that somehow misplaced themselves, and realize the dishwasher hasn’t been started and milk was spilled all over the kitchen floor and inappropriately cleaned up….
AND STILL FEEL LIKE I DID SOMETHING OF VALUE FOR THE DAY.
The garden center is my therapy. It costs about as much as Lexapro, but it works wonders without the nausea.