So while reading a new favorite blog, A County Doctor's Wife, it reminded me of my attempts at gardening Friday night. J and I had a fabulously fun Friday night of feeding the horde and watching TV until bedtime. I'd HAD IT with all of them, the monsters! and so went outside to weed the pitiful landscaping out front of our house. J hates yard work and I don't mind it but can't likely do it without reinforcements to keep an eye on my PMS while doing so. So we look total white trash with the black plastic layer (to prevent weeds) blowing in the wind and weeds everywhere. Crappy plastic trash bag stuff doesn't even work. We need mulch in the worst way, and some sort of design scheme. The plants are so random. I have no earthly clue what I'm doing or what plants to plant and J's only criteria is "cheap" so it's a chaotic hodge podge of plants.
So I pulled every flippin' weed out there, pretending to myself it was P's smart mouth (and he's only 5!) and M's screaming sass (she's a total princess, and 2 1/2). I felt such accomplishment! Look at that big ol' pile of weeds there! I can get something done. The landscaping looked a bit better, just pitiful plants and no weeds. Yea!
And then I discovered something. I am ever so sweet and tasty to mosquitoes and other icky bugs and weeding on a humid Southern summer evening is not smart, no no. At recent count there's over 30 chigger bites, all between my neck and mid-thighs. Yes, 30. I thought it was mosquitoes but it's chiggers; they like to find warm moist crevices, like arm pits and private, and bite there. Yep, your imagination is correct. I do have chigger bites "there." And poor P, he had a bite on his boy parts, proceeded to show me multiple times, and ask how to get rid of it. Sorry, bud, like me you just have to scratch and wait.
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