I Hate My Yard
Really, there's no deeper meaning. I'm just tired of my yard. I have ideas and a limited budget of both time and resources.
And I have a kid.
Here's a question: is it bad to want to tie a rope around your kid's waist so that they don't run into the street? Or is it less abusive to risk having your kid get hit by a car? I'm just curious.
Yesterday we spent some quality time in the backyard. Actually, I should call it "quantity time", because I spent a lot of that time reminding Joaquin that he needed to play Over There. Over There where I wasn't digging up the toxic foxglove. Over There where my tulip greens aren't starting to peek up from the ground. Over There where the Forbidden Stairs to the Deck are. Quantity time spent pulling Boy off tulips, away from Crazyworking Mama in the midst of dangerous digitalis, and off the steps, even though I'd blocked them off with buckets filled with broken pavers. His foot is a fraction of the size of mine and he knows how to exploit the tiniest of spaces. And how to laugh at Mama each time she comes over and says "Feet stay on the ground." Laughing as if to say "Oh, you helpless, deluded lady. Ha ha ha!"
All this before he seemed curious about the gap between the retaining wall and the neighbor's fence. A one foot gap with a four-foot drop. Ha-freakin'-ha-ha-ha. Scary.
We packed it in for the day.
Today I wrestled with about a hundred tasks that needed to be done: roses waiting to be pruned down, tons of perennials needing to be trimmed back, old dead iris leaves smothering new growth that begged to be cleared away, forsythia needing some loving care, and the weeds. Ugh. And a few plants that Just Need To Go. Other than clearing out the coreopsis, nothing else was completed. On my part, anyway. And just when Boy got settled into a fulfilling task (pulling the dirt off an old, dead clump of iris that should have been planted before he was born and depositing said dirt into a watering can), it was time to make lunch and then go pick up Susie Sunshine and Evan Everbright for afterschool care.
Oh, and I stopped at Belmont Station and picked up a couple beers for tonight on my way over. Good thing I did.
Joe home late, stir fry a little too bok-choy-y. A long day and I can't stop thinking about my damn yard. I just hate it. I hate not having enough time. I hate the idea of possibly having to hire a babysitter, and I hate the idea of my child getting hit by a car or literally falling into a crack.
But you know, ten to one I'll be out there tomorrow while the sun is shining. Just don't be surprised if you see a rope tied to my porch and my boy holding onto the other end, having escaped and laughing. Ha ha ha.
And I have a kid.
Here's a question: is it bad to want to tie a rope around your kid's waist so that they don't run into the street? Or is it less abusive to risk having your kid get hit by a car? I'm just curious.
Yesterday we spent some quality time in the backyard. Actually, I should call it "quantity time", because I spent a lot of that time reminding Joaquin that he needed to play Over There. Over There where I wasn't digging up the toxic foxglove. Over There where my tulip greens aren't starting to peek up from the ground. Over There where the Forbidden Stairs to the Deck are. Quantity time spent pulling Boy off tulips, away from Crazyworking Mama in the midst of dangerous digitalis, and off the steps, even though I'd blocked them off with buckets filled with broken pavers. His foot is a fraction of the size of mine and he knows how to exploit the tiniest of spaces. And how to laugh at Mama each time she comes over and says "Feet stay on the ground." Laughing as if to say "Oh, you helpless, deluded lady. Ha ha ha!"
All this before he seemed curious about the gap between the retaining wall and the neighbor's fence. A one foot gap with a four-foot drop. Ha-freakin'-ha-ha-ha. Scary.
We packed it in for the day.
Today I wrestled with about a hundred tasks that needed to be done: roses waiting to be pruned down, tons of perennials needing to be trimmed back, old dead iris leaves smothering new growth that begged to be cleared away, forsythia needing some loving care, and the weeds. Ugh. And a few plants that Just Need To Go. Other than clearing out the coreopsis, nothing else was completed. On my part, anyway. And just when Boy got settled into a fulfilling task (pulling the dirt off an old, dead clump of iris that should have been planted before he was born and depositing said dirt into a watering can), it was time to make lunch and then go pick up Susie Sunshine and Evan Everbright for afterschool care.
Oh, and I stopped at Belmont Station and picked up a couple beers for tonight on my way over. Good thing I did.
Joe home late, stir fry a little too bok-choy-y. A long day and I can't stop thinking about my damn yard. I just hate it. I hate not having enough time. I hate the idea of possibly having to hire a babysitter, and I hate the idea of my child getting hit by a car or literally falling into a crack.
But you know, ten to one I'll be out there tomorrow while the sun is shining. Just don't be surprised if you see a rope tied to my porch and my boy holding onto the other end, having escaped and laughing. Ha ha ha.
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