I am so sore. So, so sore. Lemme show you why.
Yes, I’m sore from drinking beers. No, sillies. This is what our backyard USED to look like:
So yeah. It was a small plot of grass with some rose bushes along the perimeter. But here’s the thing: We’re not rose people. Or even, grass people. We don’t have children who need to frolic barefoot in blades of green. We don’t have a dog, that might need to eat grass for digestive reasons. The roses, while nice, are a bit old lady-ish for us. And, we were not about to buy and store a lawn mower for that tiny plot. No way. We have grills to store in our fancy shed. In fact, last year, we used a weed whacker to “mow” our lawn.
But my landscape-decorator-for-life XFE had a vision. A vision that included a water feature. And parking for his car.
We went back and forth for months with our contractor Rob. Apparently, pavers or materials or whatever have to be special in order to drive on them.
Once our initial dreams were dashed, we finally, after several weeks, agreed on our third or even fourth option finally. Then work began. Ever so slowly.
Nope. I don’t need to get in the backyard at all.
There was a lot of work that first weekend. Three men of medium dark complexions worked their asses off while we held down the guacamole fort. Somebody had to do it.
But then, things came to a halt. Bad weather and material delays dragged the project on and on.
Wednesday turned into Thursday.
Thursday into Friday.
Finally, Saturday came around and we woke up bright and early to go to a bunch of different garden centers (oh, and a rock place. Because you can and must buy rocks, apparently, they are not
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