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.
