My latest obsession is whipping my yard into shape by summer and right now, in addition to fertilizing and watering, that means pulling weeds. Last summer I was giant and pregnant and hot and in no mood to do yard work of any kind, so things got a little out of hand. How out of hand? Well since the old dissertarooney has been wrapped up I've pulled enough weeds to fill two and a half of the giant Home Depot composting bags and I'm not even halfway there. And that doesn't even count the ones I threw over the fence into the greenbelt because I was too lazy to walk to the patio to put them in the bag.
It's quite nice, the time we all spend back there. Wesley plays on a blanket and Charlie alternately climbs on the swing set and helps me pull weeds. He has claimed all the weeds by the swing set as "his" and will not let me pull them. Instead, he crouches in the grass and plucks out random bits of vegetation, holding them over his head and exclaiming "It's a BIG ONE, Mama!" before proudly carrying it to the pile on the patio. Occasionally he will run over and show me a handful of grass and say "Look Mama! It's the ROOTS!"
Today we were back there working together when Charlie ran over to me, upset. I asked him what was wrong and he whined "Kiss it!"
"What do you want me to kiss?" I asked.
He held out his tongue.
I paused, then blew him a kiss.
"Is that better?"
"Yeah" he whined.
"What happened to your tongue, Buddy?"
"A roly poly."
He was on the verge of tears.
"Did you put a roly poly in your mouth?"
"It's down in my tummy."
The best part is that I can't call Pediatrician Man to make sure it's not dangerous (even though I am sure I wouldn't have anyway, it was just a roly poly) because earlier today we were there for a mysterious rash on Charlie's neck and cheek that turned out to be poison ivy and I had NO IDEA where it came from. Me and my feral, insect-eating children.