I’m not your average girl when it comes to domesticity. I’d rather install the dishwasher than load it. Give me a power tool over a pile of laundry any day of the week.
Even before Bob died, things like electrical and plumbing chores usually fell into my hands because I knew how to do them or he was travelling or I just didn’t have the patience to wait for someone else to do it or, and ladies listen to me here, I wanted to do it myself because I LIKED DOING IT. Power tools and stripping wires and building things = pretty fucking awesome in my book.
Laundry, however? Oh. My. God. Washing the same t-shirt over and over? Makes my head hurt from a philosophical standpoint. Pain on a cosmic level. Like, hey, Mr. t-shirt? Haven’t we met before? Don’t you know how to do this by yourself yet? I’m just not wired for it. I do it because I have to, but there’s no joy there for me.
So, yesterday was power-tool day. My friend, Karyn, and I built some serious stuff in my backyard. We’re calling it our Grandpa Memorial Garden in honor of our farming grandfathers. Check out our hard work.
Even the kiddos pitched in.
Today, we plant.