The Toxic Housewife

before . . . OK, so we’ve begun to harvest a lot from the farm.  This ought to be an exciting time for me: seeing the fruits of my labor and all that.  Naturally, I choose to be irritated about it all instead.

my heart hurts It is a tragic time for the Toxic Household: I have recently learned that Mr. C and I are being dumped.

Please, enough already!  Your stony silence only serves to prove to me that you're hurting for an update on the Toxic Household.  So here it is:

I figured that, since I don't feel like working, you may not feel like working, either.  With that in mind, I bring you the following most-excellent time wasters:

You may recall a snide comment here or there in some of my previous posts about the fear that I will never, ever, for the next 18 years, get the chance to have the house to myself again.  Well . . .

7 days of baking + 12 desserts made + 3 days of housecleaning + 8 hours of table set up = 1 Major Bitch.

Here's a shot of the three (count them) three strawberries that managed to survive . . . well . . . ME being their gardener. It wasn't the easiest of tasks to get those plants there, I'll have you know.  I mean, I actually had to DIG them up from the patch at the farm, DRIVE them home, DRILL sloppy holes all over the side of an old black plant bucket (OK, that part actually was a little tough), FILL that bucket with dirt and compost, and then PLACE all the strawberry starts in the various holes of the bucket.  Then I had to FORGET about watering the strawberries, then wonder WHY most of the plants died and all I got were these three strawberries. But don't get me wrong: I'm actually thrilled to death that I , The Toxic Housewife, Herself , managed to grow three whole strawberries ! And then the birds ate them.