In my household, my children are the proud caretakers of a captivating bog garden filled with carnivorous plants. This collection includes several pitcher plants, enigmatic Venus flytraps, and sundews that joined the fray. These botanical wonders reside in pots arrayed on tables in our front yard, basking in the sun. Our yard’s appearance, dominated by this bog garden, communicates a clear message to our neighbors: “We have more exciting things to focus on than lawn care.”
The front yard features a permanent brown patch, courtesy of the kids’ Fisher-Price roller coaster. Sports balls have nestled themselves in the pine straw, transformed into mossy artifacts. Lightsabers lie scattered along the walkway, mingling with overturned ride-on toys, as grass sprouts up between them. The rosebushes, once manageable, now stretch out menacingly, ready to snag us as we enter and exit the car.
Occasionally, the mail carrier calls out for us to liberate the mailbox from the encroaching foliage, prompting my husband to heroically reclaim it from the greenery—if only temporarily. However, the rosemary we planted flanking our gate has morphed into fragrant behemoths that deter delivery personnel.
One neighbor once inquired if we were operating a daycare due to the plethora of toys scattered about. No, we just prefer to embrace the chaos. Dandelions flourish among the detritus, and our fence obscures them until they reach impressive heights. At times, the overgrown bushes mask our dining room windows. A public official once commented on the wilderness of our yard, suggesting it appeared uninhabited.
I occasionally feel a twinge of guilt. After all, maintaining a well-groomed lawn is a quintessentially American activity. My neighbors have cultivated immaculate lawns, resembling pristine putting greens, which they meticulously mow with oversized riding mowers. They tend to fertilize these patches of green, ensuring they remain untouched by children, as if they were protecting a sacred relic.
A glance into their backyards reveals the same meticulous care. In contrast, my backyard resembles an untamed jungle, with only rabbit trails marking paths for our dogs. Years of fallen leaves clutter the flower beds, which are now a haven for weeds. Baby raspberry bushes sprout everywhere, the result of birds feasting on our previous crop and depositing the seeds. There’s even a designated digging area for the kids, while the rest of the yard is overrun with pokeweed and thistle. Sweetgum balls and dog waste create treacherous foot traps.
This disarray would be more acceptable if we hadn’t purchased a home with a pristine front and backyard. It quickly became clear that maintaining such beauty was beyond our capabilities, leading us to erect a privacy fence to shield ourselves from prying eyes. The early days were challenging, primarily due to unsuccessful rose endeavors and wilting azaleas. Then, we welcomed our children into the world.
Kids are undeniably adorable, yet they are also voracious time consumers. Mowing the lawn becomes nearly impossible when they are around. While my husband usually handles the mowing, I prefer to engage him with the kids during his weekends. Consequently, our lawn remains unkempt, and the backyard has become an overgrown sanctuary—requiring a machete in places to navigate.
Our power company raised concerns about the state of our yard, necessitating the removal of small trees to improve access to the electrical line. It’s a project requiring chainsaws, which are hardly child-friendly, and it’s clear that general cleanup and waste removal are long overdue. Unfortunately, such tasks are not feasible with children in tow and will remain on our to-do list for the foreseeable future.
At least the front yard is home to some form of grass that doesn’t reach knee height—thanks to the dandelions, of course. They flourish among the toys, broken pots, and the tangle of rose bushes, all while our bog garden, the only element we maintain, thrives without the need for power tools.
We may well be dragging down property values and looking like the neighborhood miscreants. I daydream that a neighbor will decide to sell their home and offer to bring in a lawn service to tidy up our yard—a service we can’t afford. This is often recommended on real estate sites. Another fantasy? A working weed whacker.
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In summary, my family’s chaotic approach to lawn maintenance reflects our priorities—living life and embracing the delightful messiness of parenthood over the pursuit of a perfectly manicured lawn.
Keyphrase: neglecting lawn care for parenting
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