I'm completely fucking out of my mind.
For some reason, I decided a month ago it would be a good idea to purchase some spring bulbs on a whim.
Good ideas on a whim are never actually good ideas.
So yesterday I had to act on that supposed good idea and plant 50 daffodils and 60 grape hyacinths yesterday. Which, of course, also required me taking the children with me (by. my. self. oh. my hell.) to the garden center to purchase ten 40-pound bags of top soil, load it onto a cart and into the van (again, with the By. My. Self. Ness. Oh. My. Hell.). Aaron lugged it to the backyard for me (yes, sometimes he can be Very Useful) (barely) but he just dumped it in the middle of the patio. Then I had to distribute said 400 pounds of soil in the garden bed (wash away is a bitch) and then move 120 gallons of leaves from other areas in the yard to cover the freshly planted bed.
For that much work, it should look like a fucking Monet. Instead it looks like messy autumn leaves.
Other pictures from the garden:
The "triangle" where all the motherfucking echinacea grow. I really fucking hate echinacea, but the birds love to eat the seeds in the winter, and that happens just outside the eating area's window, where of course all the boys like to watch the fucking birds all winter so I? Have to let it continue to grow.
Just so everyone knows: no. Roses do not grow tomatoes. It's called rosehips. And I'm deathly allergic. But it's kinda sorta pretty. And I get to make fun of people who gasp and ask, "how'd you get your roses to grow tomatoes?!"
And the "island." The island that won't grow shit because it's too shaded. I got a few zinnias to sprout so I need to research the Zinnia God/Goddess so I can do proper sacrifices and worship said God/Goddess all winter in hopes of better productivity next year.
Gardening's a bitch.