"What should I write about?"
"My blog. What should I write about?"
"The drought. My lawn."
"No one cares about your lawn, T."
"Well, they don't want to hear about Aubrey or anything...."
"But no one wants to hear about your lawn..."
So I'll write about T's lawn. T's damn lawn. I swear, the lawn is the third person in our relationship. Well, fourth because according to our wedding vows, God is the third, but still. You get my point. I swear to God, this lawn has become an obsession for him. And the bane of my existence.
Earlier in May T got the idea to purchase this huge pile of dirt. To fill in the spots in our lawn where the house has settled and to plant grass along the edges of the lawn. So he bought this huge pile of dirt. It was delivered on a Saturday in May, and it took T and his parents about eight hours to move the dirt and rake it into the lawn. On one of the hottest days ever. And it looked like this big dirt moat all around our house. Up our driveway, along the sidewalk, around the house, on our property line. Dirt. And grass seed. Little did T realize that we were about to hit the biggest drought in years. So he fruitlessly would go out, roll the hose out and water every single inch of this dirt. And it took two hours at a time. Which would mean Nain would have to put Aubrey to bed and sit all alone in the house while he watered his damn dirt. (Can't tell how I feel about the dirt, right?)
Well, guess what? The grass didn't grow. I know, I was shocked. Didn't see that one coming at all.
But his Dad, when they came back out in June bought different type of seed and thus continued the watering. The every night watering. And the constant pacing around the yard and coming back into the house and saying "I don't think the grass is growing." Or "I shouldn't have gotten this dirt." Or give or take a variation on that theme.
So we've given up, on the advice of the good people at Lawn Pride who are going to help us in the fall. Hopefully. But until then we have this moat of dirt. A dirt wall, if you will. And it's going to be there until a miracle happens and maybe, just maybe, we get some relief. Until then, I get to see the dirt. And hear T talk about the dirt. Every. Freaking. Day.
Oh how I hate you, dirt.
So there, you go, T! My post on your lawn. I love you!