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" After a long week of being apart, this week is about Rex and me getting dirty. There will be sweating. There will be drinking. There will gloves. I might even trim an overgrown bush. Oh yeah... we&amp;#039;re gardening! On one hand, I pray my in-laws never read my column. (My own mother? I could care less. She knows I&amp;#039;m a potty mouth. Besides, she made me. It&amp;#039;s totally her own fault.) On the other hand, I hope my conservative, law abiding, never-show-up-late-not-even-due-to-amazing-sex in-laws do read this blog, for they&amp;#039;ll see how much I really put up with when it comes to Rex. And let&amp;#039;s just put it on the virtual table right now: I. HATE. GARDENING. I want to like it. I want to see the beauty in cultivating life. In slowing down and being in the moment. Sadly, all I see are uncomfortable gloves and lots of manure. (If my husband had worn more uncomfortable gloves, I wouldn&amp;#039;t have my children, so I shouldn&amp;#039;t complain too much.) Stick me on the 23rd floor of a New York City skyscraping overlooking the green of Central Park. But put me front of a lawn mower and I&amp;#039;m ready to pull my hair out along with those weeds. It would only make sense with my opposite personality spouse that what I despise he adores more than a Star Trek marathon. And sometimes, as a good spouse, this means hanging out with somene else in their turf. For me, this means slapping on a smile, offering up some Diet Coke and pretending that all that squatting and dirt dishing is getting me five pounds closer to my goal weight. It&amp;#039;s not all doldrums. There&amp;#039;s some fun to gardening. There&amp;#039;s... Well you see, there&amp;#039;s... Who am I kidding? I can&amp;#039;t think of a worse thing I&amp;#039;d rather do than spend the day spreading out seeds. However, to be fair, after Rex spread some of his own seeds in me, he&amp;#039;s had quite a full household to contend with. Instead of spending hours playing computer games he plays Chutes and Ladders. Rather than gulp beer bottles he spent many a weekend night prepping formula in baby bottles. Let&amp;#039;s not forget that unlike a flower that grows in soil with very little attention, his six foot one wife requires a heck of a lot more than watering and sun to blossom. And she&amp;#039;s a heck of a lot more feisty. Watch out for her thorns! And so, I will garden with him on Saturday. I will play some music and laugh at the kids and maybe, just maybe when I&amp;#039;m not thinking about it, I&amp;#039;ll crack a few smiles while I&amp;#039;m at it. (But in twenty years, we&amp;#039;re moving to Central Park where I&amp;#039;ll have coffee in the lobby and go to art museums (full of paintings of gardens) and chat with artists and attend political rallies and he better just smile and laugh right alongside me. He so owes me. I LOVE YOU REX. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.goodhousekeeping.com/life/relationships/a3005/getting-dirty-with-rex/>