Maybe The Two House Painters. Or The Two Box Packers. Or the Two Stop-that-Angus Yellers.
Because the above three activities have been taking up all of our time, and knitting and spinning? Not so much. Sure, I'm knitting away on a sock (Sorry, secret Sock Pal, I know you're out there, and I truly am stalking you, but I haven't had time to make a secret anonymous e-mail so I can taunt you properly.)
Instead, check out proof of our activities.
This is what we did on Monday.
Here we are tending the lawn. I love my acoustic lawnmower.
Here's what we put in the front bed we dug up and planted two weekends ago.
And here's where the Fool went all manic with a weedwhacker and dealt the vegetation a severe setback.
The other day, I was moving junk around in our basement, trying to clear a path to put more junk in there, and I found some of my mom and dad's stuff, unexpectedly, when I wasn't looking for it. It made me a little weepy later that day, and while The Fool was hugging me and letting me sniffle on his shirt, Angus came barreling into the kitchen and bit my ankle. Which made me cry harder, not because it hurt, but because, what the hell, the cat bit me for no good reason?! What kind of beastly creature does that? It almost negated the lovely nap Angus took with me last week, where he curled up on top of me and would not leave (see below). Angus' karmic bank balance is all over the map.
By popular request, Angus Ankle Biter, shown sleeping on top of me. He really, truly, is not as innocent as he looks.
This morning, Spoot and Angus had a squabble over who was going to sit in the Fool's open dresser drawer. I decided to mediate. (The answer, btw, is 'no one is going to sit in the open dresser drawer; everyone is going to hop out so Meg can go to work.')