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Yard Party


It had to happen sooner or later. I mean, here we were, enjoying our weekends, without a care for what the outside of the house looked like.
We’re a new house, after all. New houses are surrounded by mounds of dirt and two-by-fours and refuse. We have a driveway, a sidewalk leading to the house, a deck with planters of petunias. So – there you go.
No. Normal people have yards. With frothy stuff around the edges and sometimes in colors other than green.
We had to plant . . . (insert “screech screech” scary music) . . . a lawn.
Did I mention that gardening is not my strong suit? I can cook, clean (stop laughing. I can too clean), sew, organize and all manner of domestic derring-do. But I’ve never quite gotten the hang of gardening. Neither has Dirtman, who understand the concept, the idea, the logistics of having a yard, but never manages to actually do anything to further that cause.
However we’ve got seven acres to deal with here. Somewhere there has to be a lawn.
This is where owning your own business comes in handy. That . . . and having an extremely tolerant and persevering employee.
Raking and seeding for a lawn are not in Steven’s job description. Ideally, he should be sitting at a computer drawing septic systems in CAD and dreaming of the day he can ditch his job for one that pays and treats him a whole lot better. But, somehow, he ends up doing other things too, though I’m sure he continues to dream the same dreams.
So thanks to Steven we will have a lawn which no one will mow.
Yes, I know. As I mentioned before, there are those weekends that were once without care. I didn’t say we were actually going to use them to mow the lawn. It’s just that now we will spend the weekend caring about the fact that none of us is going to mow the lawn.
I know. I have teenagers at home and what’s the point in allowing them to live that long if not to do yard work?
But grass needs to be cut before it’s taller than you are. That’s how long it is by the time I wait until there is an afternoon or Saturday where there is no band practice, no cross-country practice, no after-school job scheduled or no homework assigned.
So I’ll hire a lawn crew, the same one that mowed for us at the old house, which in my family, is the equivalent of having someone come in a clean your house. I can hear my mother: “So, Miss Prima Donna can’t cut her own grass. Holy Mary can’t get herself dirty. Shall I peel you a grape, Miss La-Dee-Dah?”
I guess I’m lucky that most of the seven acres is woodland. Then again, woodlands mean falling leaves and more yard work.
If I were Steven I’d be looking for a new job.

Share  Posted by Jeanne Jackson at 9:11 PM | Permalink

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