We’re frantically working on our yard now that it’s not as hot and bright as the set of Pitch Black (the first half). Stella loves to be outside and frankly it’s a drag being out there with her. We have to be helicopter parents, as for the most part we’ve had to keep her in the front yard due to the horrendous conditions of the back. I’ve referred to it before as the Heart of Darkness for good reason. I haven’t seen a tiger yet at least.
Anyway, in the front there are still plenty of things to get into, hence our persistent hovering. We have ubiquitous fire ants. There’s the road. We have weird neighbors. There are always rude pieces of merde who allow their dogs to merde in our yard (damn it). It’s a drag for all of us, but we feel compelled to follow our Tasmanian devil of a child around so that she doesn’t get bitten up too badly, get squashed by a car, or squash a canine poo with her feet – or worse.
We’ve put as much fun stuff as possible out there for entertainment. Our enormous driveway is the canvas for all sorts of sidewalk chalk action and there is always at least one container of bubbles lying around. We can’t leave out much more due to the stray cat population and their love of urinating on things. Regardless, no matter what fun stuff is around to occupy her, Stella loves to get into the exact stuff I don’t want her near.
For instance, her father’s car has some slow oil leak somewhere. He always parks in the same place so that the oil doesn’t end up coating the entire driveway. The problem is that where he parks now resembles the La Brea Tar Pits. My kid’s footprints in old yucky oil are adorable and all, but this isn’t a good thing. I’m thinking maybe I could plant some faux Pleistocene fossils in there and start charging admission. With the profits, I could fix Will’s car once and for all AND pay for some landscaping and pest control. Let me dream, people. Let me dream.