invasion

There are two types of people in this world:

Those who have lawns

and

those who have grass.

Up until about a month ago I was in the latter group. Actually, I am still in the latter group envying those in the lawn posse.

Let me ‘splain. For the first 34 and 3/4 (hey—34, 34!)years of my life I had a soft spot for dandelions. I scoffed at those who called them weeds. They’re cute! They’re flowers! They’re perky! They make me happy as I drive past vacant lots and unkempt homes.

We had a few in our yard last year but once you mowed over them you couldn’t even tell they were residents. You sorta had to squint to see them.

But this year our yard was invaded by multiple family reunions of the dandelion clan. They were practically setting up volleyball nets and conducting sack races right under my nose.

I contemplated how in the world we went from a dozen to a quadrillion in 12 short months and then the video in my head played back the scenes of me last year encouraging the children to blow the seeds and make wishes. Over. And. Over. And. Over.

Just in case you ever pondered my level of I.Q.—it’s currently at the level of a gnat.

But now I know. I know what happens to those airy and wispy little buggars—they burrow down into the soil and multiply to their root’s content and spread, spread, spread the evil wherever they can by uncurling their ugly necks, poofing out clandestine head that will in turn seed even more of our yellow lawn, muscling  over tender blades of grass fighting for their last bit of water, oxygen and soil.

I shook my menacing fist and declared war and practically sped to my local Ace Hardware to gather the weapons necessary. I wanted the impossible: something to obliterate the poo out of them without making my children have feet that glow in the dark. Jeremy was on the side of the nukes, pshawing my concerns of children who grow up to be adults with pustules and extra digits all in the name of the Lawn.

In fact, I’ve decided there is one item missing from many prenuptial classes and books and that is a simple scale. The L to G scale as we in the field know it. Lawn muggles would be reminded it is the Lawn to Grass ratio as in a

1 is equated to a flannel wearing tree hugger who loves to drink dandelion tea for breakfast and a

10 is a golfer in a business suit who wants to view the chemicals sliming off the blades of grass by night vision goggles.

The local Ace hardware guru and my poor, poor friend Jessica, who happened to be in my field of vision, told me to buy the weed-picker-outer that resembles the tongue of a snake. If the snake we made of metal. And had a wooden tail.

I then filled my trusty 15 gal. bucket

FA---OUR times! That is 1+1+1+1 for those who share in my gnat brain size. And that, my dear readers, is a poo-load of weeds.

I’d like to say that our lawn looks more magnificent than ever, that it really IS a lawn and the one bag of natural fertilizer I tossed around with a Styrofoam cup combined with weeks of rain really saved the day and brought me up to the IQ level of a salamander, but alas…

it still resembles a pocked, Sun-in lawn wanna be.

My retired neighbor even stuck his head out his door one afternoon to tell me I was wasting my time, that they would just grow back. He informed me he would be over the next day to spray them all to kingdom come. He really is thoughtful; bought the kids Easter baskets and all, but I don’t think he’ll be alive to sue when my kids’ feet are pustule and toe-filled.

The kicker is he was sorta right. A few have grown back, but the rest now have their vacancies filled by a different nuisance:

Yes, that would be ants…

 

and lots of ‘em.

Jerks.

Anyone have any advice to aid in my war? I really don’t care if it looks like a putting green, I just want it to look ok-ish. Without a wheelbarrow load of sweat, money or cancer-ish chemicals.

Is it possible?

Go ahead, share your lawn-grass wisdom. Be my new BFF. Bless us all with your fertilizer-filled wisdom. Or just come spray my lawn by moonlight and I’ll be none the wiser (cause I’m just a dim-witted salamander, ya know).