Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Five, Six
Five, six . . . pick up sticks
Seven, eight . . . mowing's great
Nine, ten . . . paint the shed
Okay, so that's an imperfect rhyme. They're all the rage in lyrics, so I'm practicing.
As for the ditty, that's what I did this evening. Picked up sticks - we've got a gazillion oaks that like to drop branches - mowed the lawn (with the help of Hubby and Eldest Son) - and painted the shed (with Hubby's assistance, too). Shh! Don't tell anyone. We ran out of paint after painting the three public sides. The side where I chopped out the bushes and grapevines is the one that didn't get painted. Go figure.
Seven, eight . . . mowing's great
Nine, ten . . . paint the shed
Okay, so that's an imperfect rhyme. They're all the rage in lyrics, so I'm practicing.
As for the ditty, that's what I did this evening. Picked up sticks - we've got a gazillion oaks that like to drop branches - mowed the lawn (with the help of Hubby and Eldest Son) - and painted the shed (with Hubby's assistance, too). Shh! Don't tell anyone. We ran out of paint after painting the three public sides. The side where I chopped out the bushes and grapevines is the one that didn't get painted. Go figure.
Labels: husband, lyrics, mowing, oak trees, painting, rhyme, shed, son
