Having returned from our weekend in Winthrop, re-energised and inspired, I’ve spent this week looking at our home with a more critical eye.
I’ve noticed how much we’ve let everything go, and how quickly “nature” has staked her claim on our garden. I know that my husband is at work seemingly 24-7 – maybe not physically (though it’s close enough!), but definitely mentally – and that the Pepperlings need entertaining every day, but enough is enough. I’m actually embarrassed to invite anyone over for a playdate, so it’s high time to take this bull by the horns, and tackle it head on. No more excuses!
I’ve had a busy ole week.
Having plonked the Pepperlings in the sandbox for (ahem) a while, I’ve weeded, pruned, hauled away branches, swept, cleared debris, and tied back over-zealous roses.
I managed not to freak out when this guy jumped out at me:
And I transformed this (shamefully neglected) windowbox
Evie and I even found time for a quick nature lesson (though, despite what seems to be going on in this photo, we did decide to leave the birds & bees chat for another time).
After completing the biggest and most back-breaking job of all, I was pretty excited by the idea of actually completing a project. Having totally cleared, weeded, swept and leveled what used to be the herb garden, I can’t wait to turn this into our fire-pit / wine-drinking den / s’mores sampling zone:
What I didn’t expect, though, was to come across some self-important, arrogant, male chauvinist bastard on my travels. I guess he saw some bird in a skirt, with pearl earrings and two toddlers in tow, and decided I wasn’t worth his precious time, let alone any respect or common courtesy. The man actually rolled his eyes at me when I dared to utter the words “I’m actually after some advice”.
I couldn’t quite believe his gall, and how very rudely he spoke to me, each word dripping in condescension. As if I was some silly little girl playing in a big man’s world of grrrr PEBBLES and rarrrr GRAVEL.
Oh yeah, you must need to have a really large appendage to work with little round rocks all day.
I must admit that I naively thought that this sort of inequality was long gone, that a woman walking into a DIY store, stone merchants or car dealership should expect to be treated no differently than her husband, brother, son or father.
And yet….the last time I took my car in for a service, the “gentleman” who served me talked exclusively to the area between my navel and my collarbone. Yeah. There. And don’t even get me started on the elderly man I had the dubious pleasure of dealing with in the lumber section of Home Depot this afternoon (another project for another day).
Yeah, yeah, all you big men with your encyclopedic knowledge of rocks, plywood and two-by-fours. How I’d love to leave you alone with a 1 year old, 3 year old and an acre of garden to manage, and see just how smug you’re feeling when I come back in a week. I expect to have all my laundry washed, dried and put away, and dinner on the table too, by the way.
Thank goodness I know that there is at least one sweet guy I can trust to help me out, every time!