A little yard work never hurt anyone. But stress about that yard work? It's led to lots of issues.

I woke up at 8:30 a.m. Friday excited -- yes, excited -- about buying some bushes for the yard. We got them home and I didn't even fuss over the dirt in the back seat of the car. I just went to the back yard and got the shovel ... and handed it to Dave.

"I guess I'm planting these?" he said.

"Yes. I'll weed."

Thinking he got the better end of the deal, because who wants to DIG in the DIRT and put bushes in? Not me! Ew. No I shall pluck these weeds.

Then that turned into picking a million helicopter seeds out of the garden. Then sweeping the walkway. Then planting some flowers. Then watering. Then hey, while we're here, let's put that ant killer out. Then hey, while I've got the hose, let's wash the sidewalk. Then that was so clean, what about cleaning the porch! The siding! I would've been up on the roof, spraying the top leaves of the junk tree in our yard because, oh, I don't know, they might be dusty or something, and you never know who's coming over with their 50-foot arm and white gloved hand to show the judgmental world your dirty tree.

Whew.

And this is all related to a visit from my dad. He's not coming for three weeks. But I've got weeding to do. I've got a kitchen to finish. I've got to make this place look nice. He's just practice, though. My in-laws are next, along with Dave's uncle and aunt.

I can't take this kind of pressure. I think I might pray for a lots of rain. You know, to wash those leaves from the tops of my trees. And give me a reason to explain the weeds. "I ... uh, wow! That rain! Like a monsoon! I couldn't get out there like I do, every day. Yup. Every. Single. Day."