Good morning! I'm up. Sort of. I'm being very careful to not let my neighbors see me let my dogs out (because my sweet husband bought pink thermal under ware for me and that's all I'm wearing. I look like Miss Piggy. Hence, the sentence, "I'm being very careful to not let my neighbors see me let my dogs out").
My mom is doing a face-plant into her palms right now.
This is the first morning I've seen frost on the grass (behind the fence).
Of course! There's a Pug in my picture (in front of the fence).
The frost on the ground....
The golden leaves in my yard....it's fall alright. "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven."
A time to rake leaves (that will never get done),
A time to evict your Geraniums from their homes cause they froze to an excruciating death (sucked to be them),
A time to chop wood for the winter like they did on Little House on the Prairie that you watched every single day of your young life in the 1980's (with an eight pound ax your husband bought and so you thought you'd get your "Prairie" on and chop ya some wood, yo!),
A time to buy fire log's (because after fifteen wussy swings, aims and holes in your grass, you realize you're crazy attempting to chop wood with a heavy ax only Hulk Hogan should wield because you'll either:
A. Swing the ax right into your stinkin' shin like your cousin did.
B. Chop off all your toes and never enjoy a full-pedicure again (however, would they only charge half the price? Sorry.)
Lotsa Love,
Laura Ingalls
(the wussy one)
(the one who can't swing an ax)
(the one who can't chop her own fire wood)
(the one who understands why Laura became Zoya instead when she grew up)
