The SPIDER did me in...

It's been an exhausting few days, but I signed up for this! Wheeee!

This weekend I decided to tackle the yard. Gregg insisted on buying a push mower for the small bits of grass we have to care for ... Since Gregg can only walk on crutches, and occasionally wow us with his one-legged impression of a "bunny", I set out on Saturday to mow the lawn. It's a good thing I shut the sliding door, otherwise genius and bruiser might have heard mommy talk like a sailor.

One thing about the mover: I'm pretty sure it was designed for someone who is at least 5'6". Hubby is 5'9", I'm 5'2". With almost no leverage, I had to hold the handle of the mower slightly over my head (or the bag falls off - that's where my sailor talk began) and take sprints across the lawn. A few times I hit a bump and nearly flew head over behind over the thing. By the time I was finished (over an hour for two embarassingly small grass plots), I was exhausted. However, since our landlady was concerned about the weeds killing off the 5 blades of grass in each section, I sprayed some kind of super lawn poison over the freshly cut lawn. Wouldn't ya know it - as soon as I started spraying, a wind came billowing by. Normally this would be refreshing, but now the wind spattered my legs with weed killer. I try not to think how my DNA is being altered.

After this excitement, I go inside and practically peel my skin off in the shower, trying to rid myself of the toxins. All these exertions (mind you - I work out 4/5 days a week for 1.5-2 hrs) make me sleepy, and I end up cuddling bruiser on the couch. We're both recovering from a virus that is being passed around all the schools (like a good rumor!) and we both have matching dark circles under our eyes. I'm trying to ask him if his tummy feels better, when my eyes slam shut.

I wake up to find bruiser has brought all his babies from his bedroom (loveys - he as a collection of 9, and yes, they must travel with us on trips - he counts them) and has draped them lovingly around my head. When he sees my eyes open, he tries to shove a pacifier in my mouth. Genius is waiting to pounce and assails me with,"Canwegotothepark?Now?Canwe?I'mhungry!Daddysaidwecan'thavecandycanwe?" Repeat. Endlessly. I did take them to the park, though (see entry below).

On Sunday, I tell myself I'll try to kill the weeds in the other parts of the yard. Instead, I forgot that genius has a homework assignment to collect things in nature. He's already collected a few, so I thought I'd go and pick some flowers from my yard for the assignment. I'm feeling pretty brave because I've got rubber gloves on. Thick ones. Gloves for maiming stubborn weeds. Plus, the bug guy was here a few days ago and claimed to have killed most of the spiders and black widows in our yard (although I doubt that).

I head to the one tree in our yard with flowers on it, and realize I've walked into a web. I am pretty sure it's not a black widow web. I know what you are thinking: How DO I know this?

Black widow webs are mostly at ground level, are very sticky and have lots of stuff stuck to them. Plus, for 90 bucks, I paid some guy to kill them, right? Anyhoo - this web is practically invisible, spans from the tree, to the cinderblock wall, and to the rocks in the garden. Might have been an orb weaver. Pretty spiders, but some of them are pretty freakin' big. And are nasty biters.

I proceed to pluck flowers off the tree, gather a few other items, and head inside to bag and label my goodies - because that's what moms do when they do their kid's homework. My right side is itchy, and for some reason I ignore this fact. Few minutes later it occurs to me that I've been bitten by something, and I spray an antiseptic/pain killing spray to my right hip/tush area, and proceed with large mounds of laundry. I'd skip the laundry, but I do like clean underwear.

I have to run some errands and take bruiser and genius with me. These short errands take a mere 2.5 hrs and, voila! we are back home. Then dinner, bath, and bedtime. I flop onto the couch to do a little embroidery and realize my hip is killing me. Usually this wouldn't alarm me, as I have a chronic tight iliac band on my right side, but my band isn't even an issue (a side benefit to spider bites?). I pull my pants down and see a few red marks. These red marks have cute little twin puncture marks on them. My tummy also hurts, but not in the viral kind of way, if you know what I mean.

Uh oh.

Ok, so this probably isn't a black widow's work, but my side hurts, and my leg hurts all the way down to my knee. I'm envisioning oxygen tents and amputations. Reality sets in and I realize if I'm not hyperventilating by now, and we have Epi pens for that, just so you know, that I'll probably be ok. I'm still sore, though, and try to milk sympathy out of my husband. I mean, I'm the only functional adult in the house at the moment, doing all the house/childcare, I just got bit my some slightly toxic spider, and oh yeah, I have PMS. He tells me I'm a wimp.

Today, I decide I'm going to take the day off. I do the dishes, and that's about it. Well, until hubby announces he wants to go out for lunch. I pack everyone in the car, find a restaurant open for business, and wheee! Here we are at the Range Cafe. Mmmmm. Genius orders his food, and then for the next 12 minutes and 49 seconds says,"Mom, I'm hungry, where's my food?" Bruiser invents some kind of game with his fingers. Gregg tells me some work story and I zone out.

After lunch, Gregg insists I drive him to work for a few hours, and suggests to the kids we go to the zoo, aquarium, science museum, and shop, all within the time he is at work. Riiiggghhhhht.

Instead, we head to Trader Joe's. We're going to look for Lulu, dammit. My homeboys and I meander up and down the aisles, each kid with a balloon, which they have me tie securely to the cart. Just in case. Halfway down the candy aisle, they SPOT LULU! Thank goodness! Now I can slip the chocolate bar they snuck into the cart back onto the shelf.

At the checkout counter, they announce that they found Lulu and pick a prize from the treasure chest. Bruiser immediately loses his and screams, and the checker immediately gives him another (excuse me, God, but this person should be sainted). We go home and unpack the goodies, and I hide the mommy chocolate. Then it's time to pick up daddy.

Then dinner, bath, and bedtime. I forget to eat dinner. I wish this translated into weight loss, but sadly, it doesn't.

I now sit before you , on my computer, contemplating what I will make for my sons' lunches. PBJ? Nuts? Cheese? A credit card?

Maybe I can bribe hubby to to it...