That’s Our House. Or as John Mulaney says, that’s the bank’s house, but they let us keep our stuff there. Despite this bit of technicality, that is Our House, and I love it. I loved it from the first time I stepped foot in it. Which according to John, my John, was part of the problem.
So my Mother’s Day gardening was a bit of a bust.
(For those that didn’t read my endearing Mother’s Day post I had a whole thing on how stay-at-home moms never get a break, and so Mother’s Day was our only work holiday. And with my work holiday I was going to spend the whole day gardening. No Nemo, no diapers, just gardening. Then I gave a nice tribute to my own mom, cause that’s what you do when you’re a writer on Mother’s day. Unless you have a bad relationship with your mother then you probably write some bad poetry.)
But like I said, the gardening was a bit of a bust…