Major spring fever over here.
I mean, I have got some projects involving the outdoors, of grandiose proportions. We are talking, like, outside: allthetime. And I'm excited; I mean, pee my pants, ants in the pants, pants on fire.
All my usual "pants" references of excitement.
So, why am I not working, right now, you ask?
Oh. . . ya know.
I said it before, and I'll say it again: I would love this state, if winter didn't steal from it's neighboring seasons. Winter, I loathe you.
But I digress--
my plans. My plans of ginormous proportions.
Whilst browsing through a "This Old House" mag, I saw it:
Oh. My. This garden. . pants have been peed.
I've always had good intentions of planting a garden. "Oh, I should. . ." "Oh, we will. . . "
So why haven't I, yet? Well, thanks for asking.
Oh. . . ya know.
Maybe the kids might eat/tear/pull/demolish/decapitate/rupture/explode it?
But back to this garden:
enclosed. ENCLOSED. It will be outside of our backyard fence, away from the hoodlums.
Raised beds, gravel paths, a dainty lil fountain surrounded by flowers. . .
massive amounts of back-breaking work. And I don't even want to talk about the money. Let's pretend that it will cost $5, okay?
Many, many thanks to the Daddy-o for helping me pick out my choice, choice pieces of lumber:
which cost 10¢. Each. No, shhhhh. Don't tell me otherwise. Don't ruin the dream, man. Don't poop on the parade.
So how's my green thumb? Well, I've seen Sesame Street: water, soil, sun. That's the extent of my gardening knowledge. And plus, I've been playing Plants vs. Zombies, so I know. Gather up my sun, plant a couple pea shooters and some tallnuts, and we're, like, totally safe from the zombies.
I am so screwed.