Many Hats

So Maurice left town just in time for me to realize that the wood stove was long overdue for a sweeping of ashes.  Well, shoveling is the better-suited term.

One hour before a new day care mom arrives for a meet-and-greet and, true to form, I decide to clean the woodstove.  The can on the porch was full of the previous cleanings' ashes (thanks, hon), so I decided to dump the fresh ashes into a plastic bag.  Smack in the middle of this process, I realized the embers I was shoving into the plastic bag were still glowing red, simultaneously becoming aware of a crackling sound coming from the plastic bag.  (It was then that I remembered my husband instructing me to n.e.v.e.r use anything other than a metal can to discard woodstove ashes, and that I was quite possibly going to burn my house down any second)  Soooo, I quickly diverted my attention to dumping the bag containing the certain threat of a fiery death to the woods, along with the metal can full of ashes (because I am a rock star).  Emptied both, came inside to finish the job I'd set out to do. 

Only to find that Hannah and Chloe had decided that fingerpainting with ashes was fun, and my window, window seat, and very pretty little brown-haired duo were covered in greyness that had somehow become soaking wet (probably the snow from the metal can that sits on the porch).  Once that mess was cleaned, and the metal can full of ashes again, I realized that the frozen pee on top of the metal can melted, and that I really dislike my St. Bernard right now.  I also am not very pleasant toward Maurice, for having the grand idea of breeding him.  Which has never happened.  In fact, the only thing that has happened as a result of Bosley not being neutered is that every. single. surface. in our yard that is within distance of his stream of urine is covered in his urine.  The target marking surfaces, unfortunately, includes the freaking metal ash can that has now shed the freshly-thawed urine coating, that has now mixed with the ashes on the floor, the window, and window seat, that I have now wasted an entire roll of paper towels in the process of rectifying the entire abomination.

I have ash in my eyes.  And I still need to fix lunch.  Annnd, since I had to go BACK out to the woods to dump the new load of ashes (because, like I said, I am a rock star), I was faced with the real verdict concerning my yard:  combined with the frozen-dog-pee-marked surfaces, the two discarded pieces of interior furniture that are sititng on my porch, and the added enhancement of a plastic jack-o-lantern balancing precariously on top of one of the abandoned bird feeders--we totally have a trashy yard.  The only thing missing is a tin-can shooting range and some free-roaming chickens.

I guess I could roll with this one by saying that I wear many hats: chimney sweet, rock star, and trashy yard owner being the top three for today.