The Bradford pear trees are in full bloom right now. Also full stink.
Anyone who has a Bradford pear will enjoy the blooms for a day or two, then wonder every day for a week whose dog is using his yard as a potty spot, only to realize it's the tree, not any dog, making the fragrance.
They are beautiful, though.
Here's a picture of a few Bradford pears in town after a storm had just passed through.
Wonderful Mr. W came today for his quarterly pest control application around our house. I'll give up all sorts of things before that goes. I don't relish the thought of sharing my living space with bugs.
Getting the house ready for wonderful Mr. W to spray involves clearing away closet floor space and making sure he can get to the entire perimeter of each room; simple in most rooms, not in one bedroom in particular.
Once child of ours, who shall remain unnamed, scatters quite a bit of clothing and every other manner of schtuff to the four corners of his/her room. There's no cleaning up that wreck before wonderful Mr. W can come, so I usually will just throw it all in a pile in the center of the room while this unnamed child is at school. It makes quite a mountain.
I'm sure wonderful Mr. W has seen worse.
I'm absolutely dreading going grocery shopping. It has to be done, but I've been limping along a day or two at a time just getting enough each time for immediate use. I've told myself that it will take all day.
I realize it won't actually take all day to collect the groceries and fork over the wad of cash. What takes all day is the mental load of preparing the list. The grand list. Then gathering each item, tallying as I go, forgetting something at the start of the store, choosing who to anger by not getting their favorite food this time. When we (I) finally get home, carrying everything in and putting it away makes me want to take a nap.
First world problems.