Last weekend, we finally got around to taking care of the heap of dry tree branches that my husband had trimmed off our trees over the past three years. The three-foot-high pile spanned about 30 feet along the side of our long driveway and was around 10 feet wide at one end and tapered to about four feet at the other.

My husband got a quote from someone for $1250 to run the branches through a chipper and haul them off. I felt like throwing up thinking about throwing away that kind of money, so I told my husband I’d do it myself.

He didn’t think I’d do it, so I proved his pessimistic ass wrong.

I was out there at nine o’clock on Saturday morning, cutting up the dead branches with the gas pole saw myself. Then my daughter helped me haul the crap into the truck, and I drove away in a huff, leaving my husband behind to keep an eye on the little ones.

It took my daughter and me five trips to the drop-off site, three miles away, before we decided to stop for a late lunch. Then I couldn’t find the energy to continue, so I took a two-hour nap.

The next day, Sunday, my husband came to the first haul with me, realizing it wasn’t a big deal after all. He proceeded to make five more trips on his own while I stayed behind, cutting more branches to fit in the back of the truck.

We got through more than half of the brush over the weekend. We plan on getting rid of the rest this coming weekend to finally get it all done and over with.

I have sore muscles on my arms I didn’t even know existed. But it feels good.