*Shallow alert (plus vanity and ridiculousness)*
A mature, spiritually formed person would not even consider writing the following paragraph.
Seriously, please stop reading now.
But the shrubs in front of our house are OUT OF CONTROL. It is a photosynthesis-infused jungle out there. We advise visitors to bring machetes just to get to our front door. And not to bring small children, lest they be lost forever. It’s Fangorn Forest.
Not to be outdone, copious weeds are sprouting out of the (stupid) rocks that serve as a border between the garage and our side yard. I’m positive they’re demonic weeds, because every time I pull one of them, seven return in their place. (It might also be because I pull weeds impatiently, not getting the roots out, but – the rocks! For the love, the rocks).
And though we do not have a dog, or any animal of any kind, brown patches cover our front lawn, which is apparently mentored by the Mojave Desert.
And remember the bird’s nest, with the droppings and the mud? That fills out the picture quite nicely. Welcome to my home.
I am convinced that our neighbors think that when I am not preaching and/or doing other Priestly duties, I am on a crusade to drive down the prices on their homes. It’s hideous.
Here is my honest question: When in hells bells are people supposed to tend to that kind of thing? Here are my options:
- At 9:30pm, after I’ve washed out the cooler and put away the lawn chair from Isaac’s 54th soccer game this summer? (Am I exaggerating, Melissa & Eric?)
- At 4:30am, just before Elijah (who apparently needs no more than 4 hours of sleep per night) begins clink clanking his way around his room? (The sound of Legos are LOUD before dawn, let me assure you)
- During Tuesday’s staff meeting. (Actually, this is a great idea)
- Right now, instead of posting ridiculous blogs like this one. (Hey now)
- Hire it out, but then we would need to begin a forced, 40 day familial fast in order to pay for it. (Trust me, we got the estimate)
Or, maybe I just need to admit out loud to you and to my neighbors, that it is simply not possible to get it all done. Not if you also want to be the dad who plays Go Fish with his son (I lost). Or to sit on the deck and enjoy summer. Or to have people over and eat food not prepared by people who wear uniforms and hair nets. Or to do any of the things on my list that are nourishing, life giving, and which make me glad to be alive.
There is one month before school starts, which means soon we’ll have to start packing lunches and finding lost back packs and fighting the back to school crowds at Target soon enough (please don’t start that yet, oh please, for the humanity). We have one month of summer left. Let’s declare a glorious festival of procrastination on all things shrubby.
Dishes? We survived college, didn’t we?
I’m sure we’ll get to the shrubs, sometime. But tonight, I’m writing this silly blog, and afterwards, I’m going to catch the last of the sunset.
I’m going to pick the important things, at least for one more month.
Who’s with me?