High Maintenance

Up for a challenge?  You've already got one if you're raising kids on your own.  Making bank on the bills, running the Mom Taxi and shuttling everyone where they have to go, keeping everyone fed and in clean clothes.  It's difficult, but somehow, you get it done.  Pat yourself on the back.

Now what about the "Big Stuff"?

If you are fortunate enough to be in a relationship with a guy who is handy and willing to help, you'll be fine.  But what if you're not?  What if it's just you and the young'ens all alone in this crazy old world and it's all you can do to trap the raccoons, tan the hides, harvest the crops, and shoot at trespassers?



Well then my dear, you're just going to have to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and attempt to fix some things yourself.


I have always been an independent self-starter.  As a matter of fact, according to my mother, the first complete sentence I uttered as a toddler was "I do it!"  And so I do, or rather I try.  More often than not, I can figure most things out, if only just to patch something up to limp by another day until help arrives.  I feel it is my duty to share not only the things I have met the challenge with and won, but also those fixes that I have met with limited success and those you should never, under any circumstances, try at home.


Let's start with the disasters for now, and fortunately, it's a relatively small list:

Yardwork

Up until my most recent divorce five-and-a-half years ago, I hadn't been on my own for twenty-five years.  I rode that gravy train of having in-home help with very few bumps in the road.  It was always part of the unwritten contract in my two marriages that I took care of everything in the house, and it was the wasband's responsibility to take care of everything outside of the house.  

Once I was totally on my own, yardwork was truly the least of my worries.  How hard can it be?  I can mow the grass; I can plant some petunias, I can run a weed-whacker like a boss.  What, me worry?  I kept my cavalier attitude on yardwork into my first year being on my own.  Then, I started getting kind of picky.  I wanted the yard to look nice, and it looked presentable enough, but the dandelions and thistles were really overtaking the grass.  Unfortunately, I didn't make the connection to that big green thing hanging dejected from the rafters of the garage being the broadcaster that the wasband used to distribute the Weed n' Feed all over the yard every spring and fall.  By the time the weeds started to skeeve the holy hell out of me it was too late to be proactive; I needed to kill me some weeds.  Now.

"I'm not sure, but I think there's something you can just spray on weeds to kill them"

There is, but this isn't it

I suppose in my hell-bent rampage to find the easy way out of my ever-growing weed problem, I neglected to see that the word "grass" is prominently displayed immediately after "Weed &"  and before the word "killer".  That's the only excuse I have, so home I went with a gallon of the extended use version.  Extended, I reasoned, would keep killing.  I was correct.

So there I was, that late June Saturday.  With nozzle in hand, a song in my heart, and my eye on the prize, I meticulously sprayed each and every dandelion and thistle I came upon.  For good measure, I also got the grass directly around the weeds.  Just to be on the safe side.  As you can imagine, traversing the average size yard spraying one weed at a time takes quite a while.  While spraying my yard, lugging my gallon container with "Roundup" emblazoned very noticeably on the front, several neighbors wandered by; a few even chatted. Some of these were men, and all were smiling pleasantly.  "Yeah--see me?  Single-mom on the block is taking care of business!"  I imagined them thinking what a take charge kind of gal I was and that their wives wouldn't attempt such a task. I was basking in the pride of home ownership and lawn maintenance.  Once finished, I disposed of the empty container.

I remembered feeling disappointed that I would have to buy more tomorrow to tackle the even larger back yard.

So, inside I went to wash the noxious spray residue from my hands before making dinner for the family.  I couldn't wait to see how lush, green, and weed free my lawn was going to be. I should start seeing results in three hours!  I really couldn't wait for the next time my wasband came to retrieve the kids so he could see that I was managing just fine all by myself.

After dinner, I went out to see how the progress was going.  I'll be damned!  I could see some shrivelage and discoloration where I sprayed!  It's working!  Smug and proud of my efforts, I made a mental note to check tomorrow's flyers in the paper to see who was running the best deal on this godsend of a product.

I'm not sure what time I woke up, but it was fairly early. I know this because it was dark when I went to get the paper.  I walked out on my driveway, grabbed the paper, and in I went.  And so I set about my morning routine of reading the paper, cutting coupons, checking the ads, and drinking my coffee.  A piercing shriek came from my daughter. "Look outside, Mom!  What happened?"

Putting the paper down, I ran to the open front door.  "What happened to our yard, Mommy?"


                                               

I cannot put into words the devastation I felt.  I cried.  I spent all day the day before and a good chunk of change to do THIS to my yard.  I walked out, in disbelief.  Cars were going slower than normal as they passed my house.  People were out walking--gawking---smiling at my yard.  I ran to the side of the house where I deposited the empty bottle to see if I could find a clue why this had happened, for I was still in disbelief.  It was weed killer for crying out loud!  I dug the bottle out of the trash and feverishly scanned the label.  As God was my witness, I didn't remember seeing the word "grass" next to the word "killer" yesterday.  Then, I became angry, wanting to blame anyone I could. Why didn't the clerk at the store warn me?  Didn't he wonder why I wanted so MUCH RoundUp?  Why didn't any of those neighbor men stop me?  They surely knew what I was doing.

In desperation, I called my wasband to ask what I could do.  The answer was not what I wanted to hear--the quickest way to fix this, was to dig out the treated areas, replace the soil, and re-seed. Okay, but what if I can't do all that?  He then told me the grass would eventually grow in again.  In several years.  And so, for the remainder of that summer, the brown patches continued to spread. This was "Extended Kill" RoundUp, remember?  Our yard much resembled the footage sent back from the Mars "Rover".

I opted for re-seeding the following Spring.  I did that on my own, too.  I raked, I dug, and I cleared the area, I ordered the fill-dirt and grass seed.  Smiling neighbors walking about nodding in approval as I muttered, "Yeah.  Screw yourselves" under my breath as I toiled.  Unfortunately, the fill dirt was permeated with weeds, so weeds, along with the grass, came up and filled the barren areas in. You can easily tell where I re-seeded not only because of the weeds, but because I chose a different type of grass seed than what I had originally.   Well, Jimmy Crack-Corn and I don't care.  It's green. It (mostly) looks like grass. I'm not touching this again.

Five years later, my lawn is presentable.   Not award worthy, but presentable.  Thank God I never touched the backyard.

Never again, Wilson.  Never again.