In which I am highly in tune with nature

As I have not yet decided whether I am a mommy blogger, a food blogger, or just an unemployment blogger (seems like the field is a little more open on that one), today we're going to talk about: gardening. I will probably also tell you what I ate for lunch.

Hint: the best possible combination of foods.

This morning we were trying to clean up the back yard a little bit and I finally got around to examining the surprisingly Byzantine composting system in place out there. Generally I put my food scraps in a bowl and then set it on the counter as close to the back door as possible so that the Compost Fairy will know it's ready to be taken away. I don't give it much thought beyond this point. But I figured as a public service, I would let you know that if you want a genuinely impressive backyard garden such as ours (this season's yield: 7 cherry tomatoes, 6 peppers, 2 half inch long strawberries, an insane* melon plant (unintentional) and a 10 foot tall sunflower (unintentional)), it's important to have a method of orchestrating compost that involves approximately eight different piles, three of which are nothing but leaves, scattered throughout the patio and yard. It doesn't hurt to have at least one that resembles the talking trash heap from Fraggle Rock. I wish I could be more specific in helping you set up your own multi-pile compost machine, but it seems to require a special, mysterious sort of alchemy, and possibly elves.

You're going to need several of these.

Also, despite having a painfully contentious relationship with the edger, Dan is suspiciously reluctant to let me try using it instead. The thing is, I don't have a years-long history of frustration and resentment with it, and I do have the focused energy of someone who is constantly afraid that her HOA is going to start putting her annual dues toward a "Worst Lawn of the Month" sign for her yard. But still no.

Here is the summary of an actual married person discussion we have had multiple times: E: I would like the lawn to be edged. D: Yes, but I hate our edger because it is made of evil. E: We could buy a new edger? D: No, I just need to fix up/exorcise it. E: We could pay someone to do the edging? D: No, we already have an edger. End scene.

Maybe he's afraid that I would somehow edge through the foundation of the house, or our daughter's leg, or something, I don't know. But I like to believe that he's just protecting me from contact with this hellish fiend of an appliance. It's romantic, in a way, our perpetually un-edged lawn.

In conclusion: pulled pork sandwich with killer homemade barbecue sauce, red cabbage cole slaw, potato salad, iced tea. All recipes from the super badass Homesick Texan.

*In a creepy, bent on world domination sort of way.