Hi. It’s me again.
I thought you needed another update because….hello…it is obvious we Hefters (just me?) are full of a zest for life that is not limited to wearing the same yoga pants for an entire week and eating pancakes. Speaking of, can you guess what’s for dinner here tomorrow? Oh, you want to come over? Sounds good…I’ll make some fancy rainbow colored pancakes, then.
I’m just kidding. I probably won’t even have the wherewithal to make pancakes. It’ll be leftovers. But they’re good leftovers because my family was in town last weekend working for food. Seriously. They worked really, really hard on my yard and I made them really, really good food. I mean, except that one night that I attempted to make cheese stuffed ravioli. That was a bad night. Let’s forget I brought that night up. I’m mostly Polish and not even a little bit Italian. Why didn’t my Italian husband make the ravioli, you ask? Because he was working that night, so it fell to me to make the pasta and stuff the cheese and concoct a red sauce with meat and open a salad bag and heat some breadsticks. Why buy it, I said? How hard can making pasta be, I said? The answer is hard. Really, really hard.
So my family came into town and my brother and my brother-in-law and my husband (when he wasn’t busy working and supplying the bacon to pay for the projects) tackled extending my back yard, replacing my sad, rotted front steps so I don’t die a painful death this winter, and downsizing Finn’s sandbox to include a cover so that the annoying feral neighborhood cats stop pooping in the sand (so disgusting and I think acceptable grounds for me to “dispose” of any cats I see roaming my yard and side-eyeing my son’s sandbox).
Oh, you want to see pictures? Sure. I’d love to show you pictures. I took them all with my phone so you can bet they’re stellar. You’re welcome.
Here’s the backstory: our privacy fence fell down during the gale force winds last spring. Actually, I’m not entirely sure they were gale force, but that sounds better than “really, really strong wind.” You’d think I’d be able to find a before picture of our yard but alas, I’m too lazy to dig through my phone right now. Suffice it to say that in July when the kids and I came home after being gone nearly the entire month, our back yard looked like something that should be featured on an episode of Curb Appeal, and not because it looked so pretty; mostly because it looked like untamed wilderness that needed love and a weed-wacker. And people could see all that untamed wilderness because our back yard was fenceless and open to anyone who wanted to gaze in disgust and wonder at my neglected gardens. After lots of overwhelmed sighing and texts questioning whether or not something was a weed to pull or a flower to save, my mama and my auntie came in September to help me tame the wild beast that had become my backyard, and truthfully, to downsize some of the gardens. They were the first thing that drew me to this house, but two years later it is glaringly obvious that I do not have as much gardening time as I originally thought I would. So we made them more manageable, which also left loads of yard space that Uriah and I envisioned grass in. Our thought was next spring, but apparently (according to our landscape contractor – aka: my brother-in-law) fall is the perfect time to lay sod (who would have thought? Not us, but we went with his expert opinion). So now we have a lush back yard. Probably for another month before it snows. The fence will be put up next spring because I like my back yard privacy. And because I hang underwear on our clothes line. Just keeping it real, people.
Moving on to the front steps. I fear for my mailman’s life on a daily basis. Not really, mostly I fear for mine (those steps were not going to hold my weight for much longer). I also like getting my monthly subscriptions and my daily bills without a side of lawsuit because my mailman broke a limb falling through our front stairs. Also, for more selfish reasons: I want my small humans to use the front porch this winter so that their drippy, melty, snowy boots stay out there and do not clog up or liquefy my kitchen as they have done in winters past. Now, this “use of the front porch for boots” plan also requires my husband to FIX THE SNOWBLOWER THAT HAS BEEN BROKEN FOR NEARLY ITS ENTIRE EXISTENCE , but another story for another time (really, I’m not bothered at all by the useless snowblower in my garage. Why should I be?). Anyway, to use the front porch, we needed non-deathtrap steps. Enter my brother and my brother-in-law and their combined construction skills. Ta da! New steps that no one will die on. They’ll get painted next summer because the oldest man on earth who happens to work at our local lumberyard suggested we wait until July for the wood to dry out. And when the man who looks like he’s been around since The Flood tells you to do something, you pay attention. Also, I don’t have an entirely finished picture of the steps because it’s dark out right now, but you get the idea.
I don’t have a picture of the sandbox either. Wow, this post is really turning out to be anti-climactic where the pictures are concerned. And I usually love a good before and after picture. I apologize that you read all this way and you don’t get to see the finished steps or the new and improved sandbox. Would it help if I told you that we are going to have a baby in the spring and that’s why we are trying to get these projects done now? Does that take the sting off of my lack of picture taking ability in documenting our home improvement projects?
It probably also explains the pancakes and the yoga pants and the laziness, but I bet you already figured that out.