I am sitting here trying to simultaneously type and scratch my right arm, which is filled with red, blistery bumps. It's poison ivy. I inflicted it on myself. We had a painter come over the weekend to paint the kids' swingset, and he pointed out a big old patch of poison ivy in one area and said he wouldn't paint there. "Oh, I'll get rid of it!" I said. And I grabbed a garbage bag, put on a gardener's glove and yanked it all out. I was wearing short sleeves. My hand looks perfectly fine. My arm is a mess.
I've got a case of poison ivy, all right, but an even bigger case of DIY-itis—this impulse to think I can do pretty much anything myself. This impulse has come in handy for things like researching info about Max and basically any topic in the universe, saving us money on home projects and once, for making Max a ridiculous costume out of a gigantic purple Bed, Bath & Beyond bag.
But often, DIY-itis is a handicap. Exhibit A: my arm (I'll spare you the photo). Trying to do so much myself means I sometimes don't delegate to Dave or even the babysitter, and I end up wiped out, stressed out and—on my craziest days—maybe a leeetle crabby.
The poison ivy actually has come in handy as an appetite suppressant, 'cause it's been making me feel nauseous (though I do not really recommend it as a weight-loss method). Also, this morning, I had two train seats all to myself because a man went to sit down next to me, took one look at my arm and moved on. Gotta love the leprosy look!
So, do any of you have a case of DIY-itis? And if you have ideas for treatment beyond hydrocortisone cream and calamine lotion, bring 'em on!
Photo/Martin LaBar
