Where's My Yard Bitch?

Some people have garden gnomes or crafty painted wooden yard signs, I care for none of that. But I am sorely missing my yard bitch.

An actual yard bitch

Our yard has just not looked the same since my son moved away to pursue his career ambitions in the Windy City. My friends used to ask me why I wasn’t bothered when he moved home after college. Are you kidding me? The Prince among 5 sisters, he went to work, did his own laundry, cleans up his kitchen mess, likes to cook and when it came to the cars or yard, would do my bidding.

I have bore 6 children. As in any group dynamic, some are workers and some are not. Growing up with a husband who traveled extensively I was reliant on my minions to pitch in, a lot. Witty language and code words just tend to make the mundane more interesting, don’t you think?

Now when I delegate jobs I refer to them as my .......... bitch. Fill in the blank. If they are on kitchen duty they are the kitchen bitch, when on laundry duty they are the laundry bitch for the day.

On a recent trip to Chicago my sister in law was sitting in the passenger seat. I announced that she would have to act as my toll bitch. At first she looked startled but after a minute started laughing and agreed to be in charge of having money for the tolls ready so we could sail through. If you don’t have an E-Z Pass it’s complicated to have the correct change for tolls ready, willing and able.

When I’m road tripping  the last thing I want to be is delayed at the toll booths because I’m for sure on a competitive arrival schedule. It’s difficult to do without the assistance of a toll bitch. I know this for a fact because my dear sister in law was too hung over and too out of it on the way home to attend to her duties.

Once we arrived for our girls weekend in Chicago I sought out my luggage bitch and my wine bitch. You see there’s no end to this game.

Back to the situation at hand and that is my yard full of leaves and wilted hostas. I’ve been nagging Raymondo for a couple weeks to attend to the situation. I don’t call him my yard bitch because he wouldn’t like that. He thinks it’s crass and doesn’t share my sense of humor. I actually enjoy raking leaves but my allergies have been so crazy this fall that I have avoided getting out there among all the angry spores.

I was inspired today though. I completed my work out with Fit TV,  Gilad’s Body Sculpting that included a concentration of weight lifting targeting the chest and shoulders today. It was sunny out and the yard was getting on my nerves so I got out there raking, carrying debris to the woods, yanking out dead vines.

After showering I headed to Starbucks to reward myself with a latte and some twittering before proceeding down to the imaging center for my annual mammogram. I have lost my grandmother, mother, 2 aunts and a cousin to breast cancer so I always dread the anxiety cloud that hangs over me in this regard. I get a mammogram done every year or so at the same facility so they can easily compare each years films for any suspicious changes.

The technician introduced me to their new mammogram machine. She told me they call it Diva because it’s cutting edge technology but very temperamental.  I’m calling it Clampy. Like a vice clamp. Somebody call the Pentagon, they can do away with water boarding as an enhanced interrogation technique. Just put the terror suspects body part into Clampy and depress the pedal that applies the pressure...they’ll cry for their mama in no time at all. Problem solved. Why didn’t they put me in charge of this in the first place?

I'm a Sexy Bitch

Between Gilad, the yard work and Clampy there is not one centimeter of my torso that is not sore tonight. Me and my best friend Motrin got into a hot bubble bath but my nipples feel like I’ve breast fed triplets today. That is weird in itself since they have pretty much been numb for the past 12 years and they have some how sprung back to life.

Looking out the window, I couldn’t help noticing it looks like there’s a swirling dervish of yard waste forming into a funnel cloud since the wind picked up. All the big piles of leaves I left for my husband to haul into the woods have been reduced by half and it’s not because he did any yard work today while I was being tortured.

My son called on his way home from work. He tends to call when he’s bored looking for me to entertain him. As he shared about his day I abruptly cut him off with the question, where is my yard bitch? The Yard Bitch then assured me he and his sisters would be home for Thanksgiving and promised to attend to the leaves if they were still bothering me.

In honor of Michigan hunting season

Yes, please go