Itching to Get Out in the Yard

My husband treats me like a fragile flower.
It's not that he thinks I can't do things, but he thinks that I shouldn't have to.
I'll  hoist a trash bag out of the can and head toward the back alley. "Paulita, I'll get that!" he calls.
If I'm scooting past him in the kitchen with a basket of laundry toward the basement, he'll say, "I'll take care of that."
Outdoor work, dishes, laundry, my husband quickly jumps in to take care of it.
But a lot of times, his hard-working ethic and attitude make me feel like I'm lazy.
So last week, I decided to tackle an outdoor job.
Our front yard is a waterfall of ivy down to a stone enclosed flowerbed.

Here's a shot of the vines flowing down the hill behind this blooming gladiola.

The surrounding trees often decide to plant their seeds in the ivy, so small trees begin to grow up. I wanted to cut down the trees and assorted weeds to clean up the ivy.
Wearing shorts and a tshirt, plus a pair of garden gloves, I  picked my way over the ivy pulling up weeds and sawing down tiny trees. I filled up a trash can that we use for yard waste before I threw in my trowel.
No one in my family noticed my gardening efforts, but I felt proud that I helped in my own way.
Then a couple days later, a bug bite began to itch, and when I examined the bites on my left arm, I realized that poison ivy had sprouted from my gardening efforts.
Now I'm busy applying alcohol to my rash, but it seems to keep popping up in new places. The first of the blisters have appeared on my right arm now and a couple on my leg.
What really bugs me, in addition to the itching, is that it doesn't all show up at once. It takes its time making an appearance.
This morning at the Y, an old man asked, "What happened to your arm?'
"Oh, it's just poison ivy," I said dismissively.
"Stay away from me!" he said.
"Poison ivy is only spread through the plant oils," I told him.
"It looks kind of juicy," he said. He actually said that. "Juicy."
For the record, it's not; it just looks gross.
Having learned my lesson, I won't be doing any more yard work. These poison ivy blisters might leave some permanent scars on my arms. Usually, when I get poison ivy, I end up at the doctor to get steroids. My body treats poison ivy like a wildfire, allowing it to spread fast and in all directions. I'm must be especially sensitive to it.
I'll still carry out the trash and the recycling, but I did ask my husband if he wouldn't mind doing the laundry, just to make sure that I didn't get any more of the poison ivy oil on my skin.
Maybe I am a fragile flower after all.

Husband MIA

All it takes to realize how much someone does for you, is to have them leave for awhile. Lucky for me, it was only a temporary absence as my husband and oldest son gallivant around the state of Florida, leaving me and the 16-year-old home alone. I can tell you that the 16-year-old has not picked up the slack. Even now, I'm waiting to hear the dryer start because I asked him to put the sheets in the dryer and turn it on. The dryer is empty; the sheets are washed. It's a fairly simple act if he can hoist his teenage body off the futon and away from the video games.
My husband mowed the lawn before he left last week, so I haven't had to tackle that. I have had to take out the trash and scoop the kitty pan everyday -- something he usually takes care. I needed to remember to set the trash cans and the recycling bins out by the curb the night before our trash pick up.
I've had to do the laundry, which he usually handles. My husband works evenings, so when I'm gone to work during the day, he takes care of the yard and household things. Then I get home and collapse. I'm so wimpy.
I have had to wash by hand all the dishes that Tucker and I have used. Our dishwasher has been broken since September, and it was never a good dishwasher any way, so instead of getting it fixed, we plan to buy a new one. But it's stainless steel so we need to replace it with a stainless steel one and those are more expensive, plus college payments keep getting in the way. So the dishwasher stands empty while I keep filling the sink with sudsy water, washing the dishes and setting them out to dry on the countertop. Lots of times when I'm at work, Earl takes care of that too.
Some simple things that he takes care of have gone undone. One day, we didn't bring the newspaper in at all. It just laid there on the front porch. Earl's also the one who gets the mail, usually the next day since it comes after he leaves for work and I never think of getting it, so I've had to remember that.
Luckily, nothing has broken while he has been gone, because Earl fixes everything in the house.
I can do without him for a week or so, but the whole place would probably fall apart if he left for much longer.