This year, I just want it to stay away. I try not to look around the yard to see what's greening and what's budding, but Brad seems to have an overwhelming need to remind me every night when he comes home from work.

"You have two flowers coming up at the front of the house," he said one night when he arrived home. "Your poppies are starting to come up," he'd tell me.

If my yard was made up of nothing but flowers, I might get a little exited, but flowers are only a minor part of what makes up my lawn. I also have a little bit of grass, a whole lot of weeds and a few bushes.

Which means I'll be mowing for the next eight months. Now mowing wouldn't be so bad, if it weren't for the fact that Brad's working 12 hour days most of the time and I've been dealing with a slipped disc in my lower back for the past eight months.

"We'll hire someone to do it," Brad told me.

I looked at him and laughed. If we could find anyone willing to mow the mess, we'd have to quit eating and give up our electricity.

We've discussed the idea of killing everything in our yard, giving the dogs the opportunity to dig wherever they want in the yard, but I'm not sure how our neighbors would feel about that.

I've dangled the idea of a riding lawn mower in front of him, but he's not biting.

And speaking of biting, Brad's starting to get the fishing fever again. Unfortunately he reads the newspaper religiously and noticed an article that the crappie are starting to bite.

He also noticed a bunch of boats on Swanson Reservoir. I caught him checking out the fishing gear.

I wouldn't mind going fishing, as long as I don't have to spend six hours sitting in a broken-down boat.

The choice is going to be a tough one -- do I spend the day mowing, sweating and breaking my back in our yard, or do I spend it sunning myself on a broken-down boat in the middle of Harry Strunk Lake?

I still have a few weeks left to make the decision, but I have to admit I'm leaning toward the lake.