This past weekend was the most productive I've had in a long time. Mark agreed, although it turns out we have vastly different definitions of the word "productive."
My backyard needed some serious TLC, which called for something Mark is deathly allergic to--manual labor. Every branch Mark picked up was followed by the same whiny question: "Isn't the gardener supposed to do this?"
(Yes, we have a gardener, but only because it's less expensive than replacing all the sprinkler wires I cut when I did the gardening myself. I became fast friends with Scott, the sprinkler tech, who showed up on a regular basis, asking with a huge sigh, "What'd you do now?")
We started off hauling rocks, about 500 pounds of them, to place around the hot tub. I figured this was the whole reason for having a son, to help with the heavy lifting. But after watching my skinny, 75-pound son struggle just pushing the (empty) flat metal cart at the hardware store, I realized he's still in the hindrance phase. I made a mental note to feed that kid more protein when we got home, so he could maybe hit the helpful stage a little sooner.
Next, we moved on to planting. Mark's job was to dig the holes. He stopped every 30 seconds to scream, "There's a wasp!" throw down his shovel, and run away.
He finally dug three two-inch holes.
"Good job," I told him. "Now place the potted plants in there."
He tried, gingerly, refusing to touch the dirt (he doesn't like to get his hands dirty). Even after pounding them, they were still a foot above ground.
"They don't fit," he said.
"Then keep digging until they do," I answered.
My backyard needed some serious TLC, which called for something Mark is deathly allergic to--manual labor. Every branch Mark picked up was followed by the same whiny question: "Isn't the gardener supposed to do this?"
(Yes, we have a gardener, but only because it's less expensive than replacing all the sprinkler wires I cut when I did the gardening myself. I became fast friends with Scott, the sprinkler tech, who showed up on a regular basis, asking with a huge sigh, "What'd you do now?")
We started off hauling rocks, about 500 pounds of them, to place around the hot tub. I figured this was the whole reason for having a son, to help with the heavy lifting. But after watching my skinny, 75-pound son struggle just pushing the (empty) flat metal cart at the hardware store, I realized he's still in the hindrance phase. I made a mental note to feed that kid more protein when we got home, so he could maybe hit the helpful stage a little sooner.
Next, we moved on to planting. Mark's job was to dig the holes. He stopped every 30 seconds to scream, "There's a wasp!" throw down his shovel, and run away.
He finally dug three two-inch holes.
"Good job," I told him. "Now place the potted plants in there."
He tried, gingerly, refusing to touch the dirt (he doesn't like to get his hands dirty). Even after pounding them, they were still a foot above ground.
"They don't fit," he said.
"Then keep digging until they do," I answered.
He just groaned and asked when the gardener was coming.
I started pruning the hedges while I waited for him to finish. Our neighbor, Caden, wandered over.
"Can we play?" Mark asked me, grabbing a ball.
"Yes, but not here," I said, nodding at the branch-strewn yard.
"What?" Mark screeched. I shot him a dirty look, and they ran off to Caden's house.
While they were gone, I finished planting and watering. I hauled in seven 40-pound bags of mulch and spread them throughout the yard. I re-potted a lemon tree, and finished shaping all the bushes and trees. When I was done, you couldn't even see the lawn--it was completely covered in clippings.
Exhausted and hot, I sat down for a minute to rest. I collapsed into a chair and watched a wasp exploring the patio, slowly flitting about every inch of the wall. It hovered above the door for a few minutes, until suddenly, Mark appeared. He opened the screen and the wasp flew into my room.
"Mark, you just let a wasp in!" I shrieked.
He shrieked too, slamming the door, and ran away. I grabbed for the door, which he'd locked. He refused to come back and unlock it, until I reminded him the wasp might leave my room, and head for his.
He shouldn't have worried. The wasp stung me instead.
I sent Mark back to Caden's, and went back to the yard work. He returned again an hour later, and threw away the empty mulch bags.
"Today was so easy," he said. "I'm not even tired!"
I wiped my sweaty brow with dirt-stained hands, and glared at him. He's a super smart kid who doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut.
"Then you didn't work hard enough," I said. I pointed at the lawn, and the trash can, and told him to get to work. He was griping so much, I went to work in the front yard, just to get a little peace and quiet.
I'm a little tired today, and the trashcan's overflowing, but my yard looks awesome.
I started pruning the hedges while I waited for him to finish. Our neighbor, Caden, wandered over.
"Can we play?" Mark asked me, grabbing a ball.
"Yes, but not here," I said, nodding at the branch-strewn yard.
"What?" Mark screeched. I shot him a dirty look, and they ran off to Caden's house.
While they were gone, I finished planting and watering. I hauled in seven 40-pound bags of mulch and spread them throughout the yard. I re-potted a lemon tree, and finished shaping all the bushes and trees. When I was done, you couldn't even see the lawn--it was completely covered in clippings.
Exhausted and hot, I sat down for a minute to rest. I collapsed into a chair and watched a wasp exploring the patio, slowly flitting about every inch of the wall. It hovered above the door for a few minutes, until suddenly, Mark appeared. He opened the screen and the wasp flew into my room.
"Mark, you just let a wasp in!" I shrieked.
He shrieked too, slamming the door, and ran away. I grabbed for the door, which he'd locked. He refused to come back and unlock it, until I reminded him the wasp might leave my room, and head for his.
He shouldn't have worried. The wasp stung me instead.
I sent Mark back to Caden's, and went back to the yard work. He returned again an hour later, and threw away the empty mulch bags.
"Today was so easy," he said. "I'm not even tired!"
I wiped my sweaty brow with dirt-stained hands, and glared at him. He's a super smart kid who doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut.
"Then you didn't work hard enough," I said. I pointed at the lawn, and the trash can, and told him to get to work. He was griping so much, I went to work in the front yard, just to get a little peace and quiet.
I'm a little tired today, and the trashcan's overflowing, but my yard looks awesome.
And of course, Mark took full credit for it.
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