I Am Sad To Announce That I Am Moving Away From My House, Because I Kind Of Liked My House

On Sunday, before my giant parenting step of sending the boy away to camp for an ENTIRE WEEK, Hubs and I had our firstborn mow the yard.

It’s why we originally had kids.  Plus, by spacing our boys out eleven and a half years, we have insured that we will not have to mow our yard ourselves ever again.  By the time the boy packs his bags and moves out to his playhouse before HOMESCHOOLING COLLEGE begins, our little padawan known as Thing 2 will be old enough to walk and talk and mow.

This is what you call Brilliant Yard Work Strategy.

Plus?  Is there anything more satisfying than sitting on your deck with a cold drink and knowing that your grass is being cut without you having to invest any sweat into it?

The downfall to Sunday, though, showed up as a little surprise in our yard.

I don’t think that any of y’all will be shocked to learn that I AM NOW PACKING MY BAGS AND RELOCATING to a different corner of the earth, because surprises like this one cannot coexist in my yard with ME.

SNAKE!SNAKE!SNAKE!

These pictures were all taken with the safety of a telephoto lens from a great distance while I yelled out, “Throw him in the driveway and BACK THE SUBURBAN OVER HIM!  BACK OVER HIM!  DO IT NOW!”, because THAT, people, is a baby bullsnake that Hubs and the boy found IN OUR YARD.  And do you know what?  The thing about babies is this:  There’s usually a mother around somewhere.  And a mother bullsnake in my yard?  Well, that little issue will get me permanently committed to an asylum.

It’s just another solid reason why Hubs and I had children to mow our lawn.  It’s a jungle out there, and Mama ain’t setting foot in no tall grass any more.

The end.

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