In light of the new and improved condition of my back, I decided to be a total fucking moron and plant some flowers that my friend divided from her garden and shared with me. I planted day lilies, red hot pokers and salvia; in case you were wondering.
Shovel+gloves+hard packed soil that used to be a horse pen= me needing wine, Advil and someone named Sven to give me a massage. Shhhh. Don't tell my husband, his back rubs are good but his hands feel like the metal rasps that farriers use on horses hooves. He works hard....and never uses lotion (get yer minds out of the gutters).
Why oh why do I have to do things like this?
Because I like to see pretty things bloom? Why can't I just be content with the view of my neighbor's 1979 camper trailer? Or my other neighbor's electric blue cattle squeeze chute?
Or maybe it was to hear Thing 1 say "You're a good worker Mommy." so that I could think "Shit yeah I am! I am one tough bitch."
Now, where is my ice pack? I kind of feel like crying a little.