“Mom! There’s a bee.” Yelled Noah, from his safe spot on the porch.

“It won’t bother you, if you don’t bother it.. now get over here and put these clippings in the bag!” I yell- in full on psycho, yard work- woman tone.

Noah doesn’t budge. I yank more weeds and yews.

ZZZZZAAAAAPPPPPP! The electric pain of a bee sting hits my right shoulder like a shorted fuse.

“OWWWWW!!!!” I yell- like a psycho-bee-stung woman running across the front yard swiping at my shoulder and sure I am being followed by a batallion of ballistic bees. I run for Noah’s safe spot on the porch. (I’m pretty sure they can’t get into the house) I do this screaming psycho dance across the yard with absolutely NO regard for how much like an idiot I must look running and flailing in my purple garden gloves while the neighbors lawn-guys watch.

“Get in the house!” I yell and sweep up the baffled boy- then wriggle throught the front door without letting the bad-beagle escape or the ballistic bees in.

Apparently I was bothering that particular bee.

And THAT is how the story of trying to help with the yard work ends. I’m DONE. I quit. No more yard work for me. Just ice and maybe yarn, and chocolate and iced-tea. That’s my plan for the rest of the day. So there.

PS- bee stings HURT! And yes, Noah told me so. I know. I know.

PPS- it’s amazing how much one small bee-sting can swell. Anybody got any home remedies to ease the pain n swelling? Whole stupid shoulder hurts.

This mornings post:

There is a problem in my yard. (Well- aside from doggy deposits)

Our narcissistic bushes, seem to desire flower bed domination. Possibly domination of the known universe.

They will be defeated. I am armed. I shall conquer. I think.

These are my very stylish purple and leather garden gloves.

Not as lovely as my black satin opera length gloves- but much more functional. + purple is always good.

They are currently embellished with the dirt that would be under my nails, had I not worn them. HATE that. Did mention that I DETEST yard work? Purple gloves or not- I still do.

The question is, Will I finish, what I started?

Well- maybe. I spent 2 hours in the on again off again thurnderstorms yesterday, battling against the evil spreading yews. I didn’t make much progress. As you can see- I only got about 1/4 OF THE WAY DONE. crap.

Something pretty to distract you from my yew defeated loserness-

My morning visitor- to the doorwall. A potential ally. Although, I think it p**ped on the doorframe. Probably a spy.

Pretty, though. See?

Apparently- the Hostas have joined the fray. I am disappointed in them. They actually grow back each year- so I thought they were on my side. They- however are part of the rebellion. The Hosta’s I think, are a new “family” in organized crime. They infiltrate and spread, much like drugs and crime. (And bad haircuts- I might add) I have no allies in the yard. Only Enemies. Granted- some of them are pretty.

You can click the flower bed pic to enlarge. As you can see- these nasty, spreading, killer yews have managed to take over the entire bed. Leaving room only for weeds, grass, ant nests and miscellaneous biting bugs.

(Biting bugs: also NOT on my side. I was bitten in places that should NOT be bitten.)

My method has been to trace the shoots (runners, whatever) to their source- then clip them with my trusty bypass pruners. I then yank the suckers out of the ground and pile them for my clean-up crew. I will leave the digging up of roots to the man whom may kill me for digging in his yard.

Fleeting thoughts of death by shrub strangulation, crossed my mind all afternoon. Then I thought of news stories of lightning and trees. I went inside to shower.

Today, the lawnguy comes to cut the grass…… I wonder if he’d finish this mess? He’ll probably be cheaper than paying my boys.

I’m going to knit. Or get my nails done to counter the attack. AFTER, I make some more progress in the yard.

If you don’t hear from me within 24 hours- call chemlawn, the closest lawn service and my family- tell them- (in this order) spray and kill everything left living in the yard- chop out the roots- and I loved them enough to die in the yard.

PS – please cremate me- I don’t want to be put in the DIRT! Sprinkle me over a large body of water- I like marine life much better than dirt.