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June 2016
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when the kids were three and five, we moved to a
green
corner of loui- siana that was filled with crazed col- lege football fans. summer in our adopted idyllic corner of the world is filled with spf 55, backyard bar- beque, and
jones
in? to be the jone- ses. decks are primed and stained, cars washed and waxed, yards tend- ed like favorite children. we share banana breads and casseroles, watch each other?s children, and mill around one another?s driveways discussing grass. like our 1950s predecessors, we yearn for a pristine, kelly
green
lego
lawn
. we admire, compare, and criticize the patch- es of
green
that grace our cul-de-sac. we are astounded at the thick carpet of grass next door and suspect its owner to be a midnight fertilizer. we strategize ways to even out the bumps, wonder at the weeds that seem to defy the laws of poison, and share truckloads of sand to create level surfaces that last through one thunderstorm. peer pressure in this block of
green
blocks should be a strong motivator, but the davidsons are not the
jones
es. our
lawn
is not the envy of the lane; in fact, i am actually grateful that it is not the worst. ?e humble square of earth in front of my house is lumpy and won?t turn
green
, and the edges never come out straight. it is rarely even with the adjacent yards, and the unblown clippings accumulate at the edges, combining with the water from the automatic sprinkler to create a
green
sludge that is unwelcome in a tidy ameri- can subdivision. but the hard-bodied english major who mows it is more inter- ested in his lsat score than the proper disposition of my excess bermuda. ?erein lies the problem. a boy?not my husband?cuts our grass. and a boy can never love a
lawn
as a man ought to. however, the man i married would rath- er opt out of the
jones
chasing altogeth- er. he proudly proclaims to mr.
jones
, ?i?ll make you look good.? call it laziness, but he prefers well-ad- justed. john simply has better things to do on saturday afternoon than pam- per the
lawn
and mother the mulch. do i want to see him shirtless like the 20-something
lawn
ornament? maybe not. ?en again, perhaps a little round- the-house with a mower would trans- form his upper body into something worth leering at. but i?ve gone off topic. ?e backyard is even worse than the front. john built a huge deck, but the stain he used turned out less than good. he likes to pretend it looks okay. ?what did you put on it?? mr.
jones
asked. my husband mumbled something un- intelligible, even to another of his own kind. when mr.
jones
begged his par- don, my cro-magnon only grunted. ?no, really, i want to know,?
jones
per- sisted, ?so i don?t put it on mine.? by the next year, the varnish had flaked and the wood had begun to pucker and warp. ?what are you going to do about it?? asked mr.
jones
. i couldn?t tell if he was con- cerned, sanctimonious, or simply disgusted. ?i?m not going to do anything.? ?you can?t leave it like this.? yes, that was definitely disgust. ?sure i can.? john grinned. ?when i?m ready to sell, i?ll slap on a fresh coat.? i told you we were not the
jones
es. ?is year, at the beginning of deck main- tenance season, mr.
jones
mentioned his weekend staining plans. ?again?? john asked. he still didn?t get that, like our anniversary, deck main- tenance is an annual event. ?tell you what,? he said, ?i?ll pay you to not stain your deck.? mr.
jones
took a deep, cleansing breath and replied, ?why don?t you take that money and hire someone to stain yours for you?? ?at?s not going to happen. we need the money for the
lawn
guy. and for the cute little tops i wear while he?s doing his substandard yard work. and possibly for marriage counseling if the
lawn
boy ever takes me up on my offer for fresh- squeezed lemonade. ? we are not the
jones
es in every issue / t h e l a s t w o r d by lela davidson june 2016 | brparents.com 83
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