She hates me so good

Sometimes the Puddinette hates me. I don’t blame her; I don’t always make life easy. On occasion though, I make it hard by doing exactly what she wants.

Complicated, huh?

Here’s the thing: as a rule, I tend towards the shiftless laying about. I’m not the kind of guy that’s got to be doing something, anything, at all times. I have family like that, to be certain. My brother’s usually up from the dinner table before while I’m still contemplating how much more food I can eat before it’s officially gluttony.

Anyway, so the Puddinette is more of a doer. If she doesn’t have something active going on, you can rest assured that she’s frantically trying to come up with a list of reasonable daily achievements. For her, if you aren’t crossing stuff off a list, time is a’ wasting.

My philosophy, on the other hand, is that life should be full of stuff you want to do, not just the things that look good with a line marked through it.

As you can probably guess, her philosophy and mine aren’t exactly 100% compatible. If I’m happily lounging in my recliner on a Sunday afternoon, I’m typically staring down the Shiny Gun Barrel of the Puddinette’s Wrath. Accomplishment, apparently, is rarely achieved from a Laz-E-Boy.

Every now and then, though, I take a day or a weekend, and I bust that list up. All gangsta-style and whatnot. I’ll set my preference for leisure time aside and commit myself fully to getting things done. This weekend was such a weekend.

Yesterday, after the obligatory kids’ ice-skating lessons and the weekly hunt for Puddin’s Perfect Pooch, I got down to business. I trimmed down some voracious honeysuckle vines and applied the Roundup Kiss Of Death to our prospective mulch bed. I then put down and spread out fifteen bags of mulch, finishing just as yesterday’s torrential downpour arrived. Of course, I never guess enough mulch the first time, and yesterday was no exception. I’d be repeating the mulch task today.

So today, I got up and administered the kid breakfasts, because it was my turn and there shall be no deviation from the morning rotation. By 10 o’clock, I departed the house with older children in tow, and we procured another ten bags of pine bark mulch. Plus a push-broom, but you don’t care about that. Upon returning home, I put down our newly acquired mulch, which was accompanied by much sweating. And a little swearing just for good measure.

And then there was a shower.

Immediately following, we left the house for two golden hours at the local parish’s annual summer festival. These things, as a rule, are not my favorite place to be. But the Puddinette was raised on them and lest her family think me a complete ogre, I have made an oath to accompany her to one, no more, no less, festival per summer. So we spent two hours in 90+ degree heat letting the kids trade cash for lollipops. Well, ok, it wasn’t a direct transaction, I guess there were games played in the middle. But it sure felt like it.

When everyone was appropriately well-done from baking in the festival sun, we went home. I then donned a second set of work clothes and began the arduous task of cleaning our garage. Conveniently, just as I got everything out of the garage, today’s torrential downpour began. I’m just lucky like that. Two and half hours later, the garage was as tidy as a submarine leaving port, and I was again, damp.

And then there was a shower.

I’m leaving the house now because I’ve got a hockey game tonight. Upon my return, I expect to be kind of tired.

And then there will a shower. Followed by a full-body collapse.

The Puddinette, marveling at my massive list of accomplishments, griped that by me doing so much she felt as if she had done hardly anything. I made her feel a little bad; indeed, I’d made her feel like a shiftless layabout. And for her, that’s not something to be proud of. I say, Mission Accomplished.

I’ve done my weekend of excessive work. I’m solid now until January, at least. Bring on the NFL.

Pud’n