A Good Woman

Charles and I have been married for over a year now and I have begun noticing things.
Odd things.
Strange things I do or say that I DEFinitely did NOT do before we got married.
Sorry for yelling.

If you know me then you know that I am no stranger to child labor, and parental overuse of it.  (Please allow exhibit A: Raking leaves intheSNOW, for review).  Because of this, I would rather pick up and toss 243,000 square bales of hay, onto a flatbed trailer intheSNOW, than mow  Like, ever. 
That may sound extreme, but when you have to mow your parents yard, the various barn lots, the homes for employees AND thesideoftheEVERLOVINroad until.you.move.away, you get burnt out.  Savvy?

And then you get married....
Not having to mow anymore is a fine reason to get married.  Just ask Caden!
Me: I abhor mowing.
Caden: Wait, isn't that why you got married?
Top of his class, that one.

But really, I have mowed twice TWICE in the past two weeks.  Why?  Couldn't tell ya.
I'm chalking it up to "Because I'm a good woman".
Don't laugh.

Other than mowing, I find myself thinking strange thoughts like, we could really use a sideboard in the breakfast area.
A sideboard?!
The 'carefree kid' inside of me dies a little each time I type "SIDEBOARD" into the Craigslist search box.
Here I am looking for decorative furniture pieces to stub my toe on, while Chuck peruses theater seats for the Man Cave.
AND I mowed.
Gahhhhhh.

It's alright, he still kills bugs for me.  I tell ya, I can hear a bug move a-n-y-where in the house.  I also heard a tree fall in the woods last week.  Basically what I am saying is I'm magic.
But only when it's not convenient, like when the grass grows or when I can't find my grocery list and am at the check-out (after buying 34 things I didn't need) and I open my wallet, when out pops the list.

I mow, search endlessly for home decor, cry inside when the men of the house come in the front door and DON'T wipe their feet.
OK, maybe I'm not magic.

Maybe I'm just a good woman.

...but the tree really made a sound.

Love,
CowLady