Sunday night FB spent the night with a friend as it is President's Week Break (yes, you read that right. And in a few weeks, we'll have Spring Break. And people wonder why the US is behind scholastically), so it was just SoS and I hanging out at the house. I have a tendency, on days I don't have to go to work the next day, to stay up until the wee hours of the morning. This makes rising at the crack of dawn with my little rays of sunshine a little difficult. The usual pattern, when FB is here, is they come in, ask if they can go downstairs, and then amuse themselves until I drag my carcass downstairs...usually around 8 am. This particular day, however, it was at 8:45. And in that time SoS had gone across the street to ask if the neighbor boy could play (ummm, come back when you're mom is awake. Jeez. Now they might vote against me for Mother of the Year.), decided his hair was too long in the front and hacked part of his bangs and most of the right side of his head, and used most of a bottle of furniture cleaner to "wash" the coffee table. So, last night I had to shear him like a sheep. After doing yard work and running errands all day, of course. He could care less and I didn't have time. He happens to like his hair shorter, so I didn't get any of the angst I would have had I shaved FBs head.

Knucklehead McSpazatron has decided, after 2 1/2 years, to start digging his way out of the fence any chance he gets. My lovely neighbors kindly put him back and plug up the holes over and over again. Even when he digs his way back out before they can get back across the street. Between my kid and my dog, they are getting a workout. So I spent today burying cement pavers under the fence line and transplanting a wisteria in order to thwart his excavation efforts. We'll see how it goes.

Because my entire yard thinks it's May, I've been out deadheading Hydrangeas, cutting back the evil roses and doing all manner of things that shouldn't have to be done for another month and a half. Curse you Pineapple Express! My pops came over and rototilled for me. I told him I'm going to move the garden closer to the house and he offered to move the frames for my raised beds. Sure, fine, that would be helpful. Until he stacked them in a flower bed. Which means on some flowers. I realize the bed is in dire need of a flamethrower weeding, but dude, c'mon.  So I have to get the new garden area ready or he'll come over and commit some other devilish-ness. 

All this manual labor, along with a nagging headache that wants to turn into a migraine, has resorted in three straight days of Percocet use.  In a strange turn of events my systemic itching from said Percocet is gone.  No longer do I spend my night scratching my legs, rubbing my back on the sheets, or digging at my shoulder.  Good.  Except the itching isn't entirely gone.  It has just moved to my orifices.  Every orifice.  Not  a fun sensation.  But still not one that will make me quit using the White Pill of the Gods brought down from Mount Olympus on a golden satin pillow.  Once again, from my cold anaphylactic hand peeps!

This has nothing to do with anything...I just think it's funny!