Where Lucy's Husband Suffers Some More

I've tried to limit my garden-talking. Really, I have. But ... sometimes ... I just can't help myself. For example, I had THE best gardening idea! I ordered duplicate catalogs (which was useful anyway when more than one child wanted to look at the same catalog) so that I could SCRAPBOOK my garden!

Not that I'm actually OCD, although one psych professor pointed out that I probably had mild OCT (Obsessive-compulsive-tendancies). Its just that thumbing through pages and pages of catalogs looking for the things I"ve ordered is ... inefficient. So I cleared a spot on my office wall (Ok, so I cleared the whole wall) and "scrapbooked" pages and pages of pictures and blurbs for each of the things I ordered! Cassie and Katherine thought this was the most fun ever this afternoon! Plus, now the kids can see at a glance what is coming. Soon I'm adding posters of the garden layout of raised beds, locations of beds and locations of plants.

But back to the part where my husband suffers ... Last night I was sitting on the bed, surrounded by catalogs, clipping and snipping them to pieces, comparing them against the master lists to make sure I didn't miss anything. My husband lay on the bed reading a non-gardening book. Finally, a few hours later, I couldn't take it anymore! I told him my plan for "scrapbooking" my garden plans!

He reached over, patted me absent-mindedly and muttered "It'll be ok." It took a moment for me to realize that he used the exact same gesture and tone when using the phrase "I'm sorry for your loss." He COMPLETELY missed the extreme cleverness of my idea, falling back on supportive consolation!

He started paying attention when I started laughing loudly. Its possible he thought I was having a break-down. He laughed too when I explained that the appropriate response was "WOW! THATS CLEVER! GOOD ORGANIZING! GARDENING IS FUN!" He laughed more when I explained tha the overwhelmed-break-down-stroke-thing will happen in the middle of May when the garage is full of plants.

Being married to me is no bed of roses.

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