I’m back. Sort of. I have the energy level of a wet dishcloth, but I’ve begun to care about the disrepair that the house has fallen into. That’s the first sign of health.
From my spot on the couch next to a box of tissues, a massive mug of hot tea, and a blanket, I’ve begun to survey and assess. The minions have made attempts to keep up with things. They’ve done dishes and folded laundry. Albeit with mixed results. Cal has complained that whoever folds laundry ought to know that bras don’t belong to him.
I’ve noticed that Matthew is out of bread. I know that sounds like a grocery store issue, but Matthew eats gluten-free bread. The only commercially available GF bread tastes like shoe leather and could be used as a projectile in a catapult. So I make it from scratch. It involves xathan gum (i.e., bacteria poop) and four types of flour (brown rice, tapioca, corn starch, and soy), which are so fine that merely disturbing them engulfs the entire kitchen in a white haze that takes days to settle. So that’s really high on my to-do list of priorities. What Matt doesn’t know is that he’s going to mix the dough today. And maybe Luke will wipe down the kitchen—it’s good to have one meticulous child.
The other thing I’ve noticed from the couch is the lawn. The couch is next to a massive plate glass window that stretches to the floor. While I’ve enjoyed looking at the spring flowers, I’ve noticed that the lawn is a patchwork of clover, dandelions, and vaguely dormant grass. I hatched an idea. (This is the problem with being sick, too much time to think.) Since the grass was dormant, I ought to be able to spray the weeds with Round-up. Dead weeds, live grass. I Googled my nefarious scheme. It was theoretically possible. The caveat was making sure the grass was really dormant, not just almost dormant. The article suggested trying to burn a patch of dormant grass. If it burns, it’s dormant. I pondered this suggestion for two minutes. Then I decided that if I actually tried this, my family would deem me too sick for rational thought and I’d be banished to bed for the remainder of my illness. So, I didn’t start a grass fire. However, I did spray Round-up with wild abandon. (Yes, I was sick while I did it—it was an opportunity for fresh air.)
Luke saw me while I was spraying. He said, “What are you doing?” Me: “Killing the weeds in the grass.” Luke: “Then all we’ll have left is a mud patch.” Of course, I’ll get the last laugh because he is the child who will be mowing said weeds all summer long.
So now I have laundry, bread making, tidying, and spraying weeds (Yes, the weeds are dying. It remains to be seen if the dormant grass is still alive. Otherwise, we will have a mud patch) on my to-do list. I think it’s time to drink a hot toddy and take a nap.