The Grass Is Always Greener In My Neighbor's Yard  

It's been true since we both moved onto the street the same week three years ago this month.

Our home had been on the market for 10 months when we bought it, and it looked it. The box hedges had defied their shapely name. Pockets of green were sprouting up between the cracks in the front walk. And the grass.... ohhhhhh, the grass. It was the sole reason we almost didn't buy this house.

But our next door neighbor's house was completely different. While our yard was infested with weeds, vines, and huge mushrooms, their yard was full of soft, fluffy, vibrant grass. There was a clear deliniation between the two yards, between where their golf course-like lawn started and our jungle-amidst-the-suburbs began. And it was the ire of DH's eye.

Now, it has never been my intention that this blog would be a dumping ground on my DH. He is an amazing man. He puts up with a lot from my type-A, over-demanding, relentless personality. So bear with me.

The first year we moved into this house, we concentrated on improving the inside. We (ok, ok-- DH-- but I did help) tiled the fireplace, installed all new lighting fixtures, painted the downstairs, laid tile on the kitchen floor, even replaced our old formica countertops. Year two was a flourish of preparation for the baby. We (he) painted her room, put furniture together, even added on to our house so G would have a place to put her toys (that's not exactly why we got the sunroom, but it has become its main purpose).

Year two also holds the honor of "The Year DH Conquered The Lawn". He interviewed lawn-care companies, researched fertilizers and seeds on the web, even convinced his good friend from work to aerate our yard. DH spent countless hours mowing and bagging the grass, pulling weeds, and watering. By the end of last summer-- dare I say it?-- our lawn looked just as good (maybe better) as our neighbor's.

That changed as soon as G was born. At first, I didn't even notice. It was fall, and the growing season was over anyway, and besides, who had the time to mow? Then DH cancelled the lawn-care company, convinced they weren't worth the money, that he could do a better job. As soon as spring was upon us, DH took to the grass with his mower, and our lawn did look fine. For about a week.

Then, DH seemed to misplace the mower. Ok, he didn't really misplace it, but you would have thought so by looking outside. He dropped his twice-a-week mowing, weeding, watering schedule and began spending time with G instead (how dare he!). The yard became second-fiddle to our family. At first, I didn't mind. The lawn really seemed to be taking care of itself. For a while, at least.

The grass seemed to be knee-high by the Fourth of July, but already, I'd had it up to here (I'm pointing to my neck). The yard-- which just a year earlier had become a carpet of lush, green grass-- had reverted back to the state it was in when we purchased the house: a suburban-jungle. I couldn't go outside without being attacked by the swarms of mosquitoes taking cover in it. I wouldn't let G play in it, for fear it might be hiding something malevolent, like snakes or spiders. I felt trapped in our house.

That's about the time the nagging started. I tried to begin gently... but soon, my fuse was short and so were my demands. "Honey, have you thought about when you'd mow again?" "Dear, when was the last time you sprayed for weeds?" "Babe, wouldn't it be nice if the yard was in good enough shape for a picnic?" "DH, MOW THE YARD!" I admit, I might not have gone about insinuating the yard needed more attention the right way. My tongue might have been a little harsh. But we were not keeping up with the Lims (our neighbors). Despite Mr. Lim's penchant for mowing half my yard (I'm fairly certain he knows where the property line is and just disregards it) and only starting up the lawnmower at 7:05 every Saturday morning, his yard is still as pristine as a city park. I'm not ashamed to say it. I'm jealous.

DH finally mowed the yard again, and I must concede, it looks much better when it's short and you can't see how some of the weeds are significantly taller than the grass. Perhaps it wasn't as bad as I'd imagined it to be. Maybe I just need to accept the fact that the grass is always greener in Mr. Lim's yard.