An itch I'm trying not to scratch

I look like I got into a hardcore wrasslin' match with a poison ivy plant.

Oh wait ... I did.

Never in my life have I had to endure this ridiculousness. Ever. All my years of wandering through wooded areas with friends, going horseback riding through thick grasses and playing in areas you'd think poison ivy would grow, and where do I pick up this itchy, scratchy rash?

The flower bed at Future Home.


Like an idiot I was pulling out some overgrown ground cover - aka "green plant of death" - and didn't realize that the giant ass vine I kept grabbing, and breaking off and getting myself oiled up by, was in fact poison ivy. Had no idea. Of course, why would I think it's in the flowerbed? Or that it looked like that!? Particularly after the plants along the treeline that Boy Wonder pointed out (which he thought was the "poisonous" plant) looked totally different.

I really need to have a talk with my green thumbs about this.

And wash all my garden utensils, and probably my flip flops.

You see, I don't garden like old ladies garden - I don't do sunhats, sunscreen, pants or sneakers. Nope. I'm all about getting down and dirty with my soil, so usually I'm all tank top or T-shirt, shorts, no shoes. Since I was working in stuff I had never worked in before last week, I made sure to take that one extra precaution and put my flip flops on ... like that would save me.

Oh, good morning poison ivy ON MY ANKLES. You're looking ravishing this fine August morn. It's taken almost a week, but there it is. All over my forearms, coming out even more on my hands, on my legs and now, after an awesome elliptical session on Monday, it's appeared on my ankles and feet (because when I run I wear socks and sneaks and I assume the sweated up skin helped bring it out).

I'm not the only one who's been wrasslin' this plant, though. My mom, who was here helping me paint and work in the yard, also has it. And I'm pretty sure Josie has some, because she's such a nature girl she climbed right up in the flowerbed with me. It doesn't stop there. My father-in-law mowed the lawn and in the process moved my giant pile of weeds ... and he got it too.

I like to share. I'm always telling my kids to be nice and share things, so here I go setting an example. Maybe even a precedent. Share things, girls, spread the wealth. *itch itch itch*

Mine is by far the worst of our cases - which isn't even that bad compared to pictures I saw when trying to identify my mystery rash last weekend - but, that's what happens when you darn near hug the plants to get them out of the ground. I may even have it on my neck, but that might be a heat rash after going to the state fair on Sunday. Oh my God, I cannot win in the Battle of the Rash this week.

This is just one of those things I know I'll have to be watchful of when we make the final move. In the meantime, I'm going to make fast friends with some homemade weed killer and go to town on that there "flowerbed" (it contains one rhododendron).

I can start fresh in the spring.

Really, I'm totally cool with destroying everything in that giant scratch trap.