How Quickly Are Promises Broken
Instantly in some cases, as it turns out. I didn't do a bit of weeding over the weekend beyond tearing out some of the tall mystery grass weeds in the front beds while walking between car and front door. Ah well. Instead, Mulch Boy and I spent a weekend mostly goofing off -- going to two movies at the theater, working our way through the Harry Potter DVDs in preparation for the final movie's premiere, lounging in the pool, visiting the bookstore, having friends over, and eating eating eating.
Mulch Boy, I believe I've mentioned, is the Family Chef, and a fantastic one. And now that's it's grilling season, he's really in his element. Sunday saw him smoking two giant slabs of beef ribs (for a visual image, imagine the brontosaurus ribs Fred orders in the closing credits of "The Flintstones"), which made a beef rib convert out of me. Monday was grilled chicky and snausage and hot dogs, last night was giant monster hamburgers. Yes, I AM a lucky woman and, yes, I'm very very aware of that!
Sadly for me, I will not be seeing much of Mulch through this weekend: he'll be working hard with his bestest friend and bidness partner at the Capital Audiofest. I will be home with the pups, and hopefully I will get a bunch of household chores and projects done to surprise him with when the Fest is over. I'm not committing to anything in writing here, though. I have a tendency to, shall we say, change my mind when it comes to these things. Not that I won't be doing SOMETHING; it just might end up being a completely different project. Queen's prerogative. Although honestly, I really ought to bathe the dogs. Sunday they thought it would be a great idea to get under the smoker to catch all those delicious beef drippings. On their heads. They smell like a barbecue pit, the two of them. It's better than dead baby bird, though, so I'm counting our blessings.
Mulch Boy, I believe I've mentioned, is the Family Chef, and a fantastic one. And now that's it's grilling season, he's really in his element. Sunday saw him smoking two giant slabs of beef ribs (for a visual image, imagine the brontosaurus ribs Fred orders in the closing credits of "The Flintstones"), which made a beef rib convert out of me. Monday was grilled chicky and snausage and hot dogs, last night was giant monster hamburgers. Yes, I AM a lucky woman and, yes, I'm very very aware of that!
Sadly for me, I will not be seeing much of Mulch through this weekend: he'll be working hard with his bestest friend and bidness partner at the Capital Audiofest. I will be home with the pups, and hopefully I will get a bunch of household chores and projects done to surprise him with when the Fest is over. I'm not committing to anything in writing here, though. I have a tendency to, shall we say, change my mind when it comes to these things. Not that I won't be doing SOMETHING; it just might end up being a completely different project. Queen's prerogative. Although honestly, I really ought to bathe the dogs. Sunday they thought it would be a great idea to get under the smoker to catch all those delicious beef drippings. On their heads. They smell like a barbecue pit, the two of them. It's better than dead baby bird, though, so I'm counting our blessings.
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