It's fall ya'll and time to order our wood, no not my honey's wood, but firewood for the winter season. Because you need to season it before you use it, meaning putting it in a nice place to dry out!
So I order my wood, and it is the boys job to stack it in the garage. Doesn't seem that hard now does it?
I started two weeks ago telling them they need to stack the wood, and of course I get a "We'll get to it" answer back. These are the same kids complaining they don't have any money so I say, "There's a job right there for you, you just have to DO IT!"
Along comes Hurricane Irma and my wood is still sitting in the driveway! I tell them a hurricane is coming and they need to stack the wood otherwise it will get wet.
What do they do?
The take plastic tarps and cover the pile of wood pre Irma. Smart but really? Can't you just stack it?
After asking for another week, I become a screaming bitch about the wood and they look at me saying, "Mom, calm down. We're going to stack it right now."
They walk down to the pile of wood, coming back a minute later, "We can't stack the wood, there's no room in the garage."
"Move some of the stuff along the wall and stack it there," I reply knowing this was their way of getting out of stacking wood, but I'm on a mission now.
With the room prepared, I watch them each walk in with a SINGLE piece of wood thinking, "This is going to take all night, but hey, they're getting exercise."
Five minutes later I check on them and they're taking a "trampoline break!"
They see me revving up my screaming bitch mode and move from "trampoline break" to stacking wood.
I watch one of them throw a piece of wood into the woods. What the hell? "It's too big and not stacking right," he says.
"It all burns the same way, go get that wood out of the woods and stack it to the side." They look at me as if I've lost my mind. Go get it? But they just threw it in the woods?
At this point they think the best way to do this is put the little brother in the garage stacking the wood while the two older ones throw the wood at him.
I just go pour a glass of wine and ignore the rest of the job, the complaining they are doing at each other because it is taking so long, who dropped wood on his toes, who got hit in the leg with a piece of wood.
When the job is finally done, they tell me how difficult it was, and the next time I shouldn't order so much wood.
These are the same kids sitting in front of the fire on a winter day enjoying the warmth from the pieces of wood they fetched out of the yard.
Now if I can just get them to mow the yard.