Every month or so I have a paper-bag-moment concerning the house.
By “paper-bag-moment” I mean: “I’M-STRESSING-OUT-OVER-HERE-SO-SOMEBODY-BETTER-GET-ME-A-PAPER-BAG-TO-BREATH-INTO-PRONTO-OR-I-AM-GONNA-HYPERVENTILATE!!!!!”
Usually my paper-bag-moments are over the fact that we still have the same nasty flooring as we did when we moved in or the fact that 80% of our house still does not have light fixtures.
This week, however, my paper-bag-moment was over the backyard.
Our backyard looks like the setting of the zombie-apocalypse:
Part of me wants to think that my backyard is not all that bad; that its overgrown weeds and fire ants are simply representations of nature taking its course.
But rusted bed springs?
Those are NOT natural.
Neither is that dratted shed behind me.
The dratted shed that TWO different people have promised to take off our hands.
The dratted shed that is STILL HERE!!!
And do you wanna know what ELSE is still here?
The mile-long pile of limbs that was supposed to be put through the chipper three months ago.
But a mile-long pile of limbs is nothing compared to a mile-long stretch of grass burrs!
I’ve tried pulling the durned things up by their roots, but I wind up getting more sticker than root!
Hey! Remember the tree that fell on our house during that storm six weeks ago?
Yep, it’s still there, too.
DOES SOMEBODY HAVE A PAPER BAG HANDY??!!!
OR AT LEAST A LARGE GARBAGE SACK TO PUT ALL OF THIS TRASH THAT HAS BEEN SITTING ON OUR DECK SINCE JANUARY??!!!
There’s some springs near the shed,
and the shed near the pile,
and the pile in the stickers,
and the stickers ’round the tree,
and the tree on the deck,
and the trash on the deck,
And the green weeds grow all around, all around and the green weeds grow all around!
The only reason why our backyard is in this condition is because we do not (yet) have the money in place for the well pump, the weed killer, the grass sod, the plants, etc., etc.
It’s a reality maddening enough to make a girl’s unibrow grow back!
And oftentimes, my paper-bag-moments are followed by sit-and-sob moments.
But my sit-and-sob moments are usually cut short by a tapping on my shoulder…
…followed by an invitation to forget all of my troubles and share a glass of iced tea.
“There’s a good beast-wife, drink your tea,” Mr. Smith urges.
After a few sips and a few deep breaths, my unibrow disappears and my hair relaxes.
Thank you, husband. I needed that.
As Mr. Smith and I toast to a better yard, I’m thankful that even though our grass isn’t alive…
…our love is.
And so my terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad yard day ended with my wonderful, delightful, so-good, very-sweet best friend.