It’s taken a while for spring to come. But I knew as soon as I woke up that it was a warm morning. I could hear lawn mowers. More than anything else, the drone of a lawn mower is the sound of a suburban springtime.
As happy I am for springtime, it means I no longer have an excuse to neglect the yard. Apparently it was weighing heavily on my conscience, since I dreamed that the HOA showed up telling me that I needed to deal with the sad, dead plants in my front flowerbed. “Can I at least wait until it’s nicer weather?” I exclaimed.
Well, the lawn mowers told me right off what my morning would involve. So I put in about an hour’s work tearing out old ivy and clipping away wickedly thorny weeds. Every spring I remember how much I don’t like yard work. If I had to name my landscaping style, it would be The Crockpot: Fix It and Forget It.
Yesterday was the day I officially gave up hope of hearing back from the literary agency. First rejection, duly noted. I’ll be choosing my next target and sending my query next week. In case anybody is curious, this is a stupid game.
I need a haircut. Short hair can go from, “Might could use a trim,” to “Major hair crisis” in about four hours. I’m suffering some tragic hair days, so I finally looked up ways to handle short hair on bad days.
I found a few good ideas, including a pattern for a headband out of an old t-shirt. But I also got really annoyed. Look, hair-advice people. When I say “short hair,” I don’t mean, “Hair you can pull back on the sides, twist into a messy topknot, or braid along the forehead.” If I could do that, I wouldn’t be looking for advice! I mean hair that, if I can gather it into a pompom with my hand, is practically Rapunzel-like in its too-longness. Please adjust your terms accordingly.
It’s also barely possible that I’m a tinge bitter that I’ll never be a long-hair girl, so how about not taunting me with long-hair girl options?
Cosmic the Bunny, through the bars of his cage: “Hey, Bookgirl, here’s a joke. What do a girl and a bunny have in common? They’re both out! Oh, wait.”
Cosmic likes being out of his hutch, and he resists being picked up. So, basically, he’s happiest when he’s down and out.
One of the best moments of Cosmic’s day — every day — is when he gets into our room in the mornings. He frolics and bounces and thinks about sunshine and rainbows.
Last Saturday at 6:30 a.m., he scrabbled the door open and barreled into the room. He crashed into something and woke up DJ, who did not want to be awake.
DJ rolled out of bed and tried to catch the rabbit. Cosmic engaged greased-lightning mode and zig-zagged out of reach. So DJ threw a shirt at him. The bunny disappeared under our bed and we didn’t see him for two hours.
Still snuggled under the covers, I thought the whole thing was much funnier than I should. I even thought, “Hey, I’m going to patent a new alarm clock. The Cosmic. When you try to turn it off, it runs away.” It was several hours later before I told DJ, though.
DJ’s Revenge: He held Cosmic captive while Bookgirl cleaned out the hutch.