It is shady and cool (or at least cool-er) in the late afternoon and evening. The house blocks most of the sun's rays, and I can let my munchkins wander around and play in the grass (yay!) and dirt (um, yay?) to their hearts' content. Without worrying about sunburn (for them) or skin cancer and premature aging (for me).
The grass is gorgeous, even if the lawn itself is rather lumpy. Sort of like a badly-made bed, with the sheets bunched up under the hastily smoothed comforter. But it is still nice, and it is because of our (mostly Bradley's) hard work with the sprinklers and the lawn mower and the weed-killer and the sod and the grass seed.
It is a nice feeling of accomplishment.
Sure, I wish there was a direct route from the house to the backyard, instead of the current side-door-past-the-garbage-around-the-woodpile-corner-through-the-mostly-broken-fence-gate. And I wish I had one of these:
(This is a picture of the Pioneer Woman's backyard swing. Yes, usually I wish I had her whole backyard, minus the random livestock that wanders around. But right now I want her backyard swing.)Or maybe one of these:
I could lightly nap in the shade and the breeze while the children idyllically play around me.(Who am I kidding? If I laid down in one of those hammocks, two minutes wouldn't pass before Hebs and Gee were begging to lay next to me, Em and Zee would be begging for their own turns, and pretty soon all four kids would be in the hammock while I sat in one of the old lawn chairs. Let's be realistic.)
Still, I love my backyard.
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