Here, though, I find that I’ve developed an enjoyment of working with my hands to make the yard more beautiful, or at least, less ugly. See, when we moved in, the yard had been badly neglected. The upstairs neighbors at that time (the current ones moved in three months later) were getting discounted rent to “take care of the yard,” which meant that they mowed the lawn every three weeks whether it needed it or not. Every single flower bed was a mess of three-foot-tall weeds (sometimes taller), every bush or rosebush was wild and overgrown, the lawn was full of crabgrass and morning glory, the “sandbox” in one corner of the back yard was unidentifiable as such because it too was full of weeds, paint was peeling on the columns on the front porch and on the mailbox, and not a single pretty thing was growing, unless you count the roses that were occasionally peeking through weeds. I longed to attack the weeds, but I wasn’t sure whether I’d be stepping on toes since they were the ones getting the rent break, and I didn’t know them very well.

I started by weeding the flower beds at the back of the house, where the entrance to our apartment is. I figured that was probably okay. I also weeded the sandbox so that Lego could play in it. Unfortunately, it soon became apparent that the sand had been full of weeds for so long that it was very dirty and full of bits of plant matter, that it was horribly infested with ants, and that cats used it as a litterbox on a regular basis.

When our current neighbors moved in, it took them less than a week to weed the main flowerbed at the front of the house. I soon got to know them, and we worked together almost every day, weeding, pruning, mowing, spraying, watering, sanding, painting, sweeping, raking, whatever. We dug up all the gross sand and replaced it with garden soil, and planted a garden in it. This year we even got permission from our landlord to double the garden’s size (it was pretty small), which involved digging up grass. I have come in many a night sore from a hard day’s work—and loved it. While we work, the boys (our two and their three) play together. One or two adults will watch the kids while one or two work.

I am happy to report that the columns and mailbox look much better. The flowerbeds are usually weed-free, or as much as can be expected. I find myself wishing for mulch, though, because it’s almost a constant battle. The lawn is still full of weeds, though I hope the weed killer I sprayed on it today will start killing the morning glory. (Does anything actually kill morning glory for good? It is the bane of my existence.) The garden is thriving, and pumpkin plants are growing and even flowering in a strip of the leftover sand from the sandbox. Every rosebush now looks like a rosebush, and each is blooming beautifully, with the exception of one that may not be retrievable. The bushes are nicely pruned. The grass is mowed regularly (I can’t take credit for that, since the upstairs neighbors do it).

I’m still fighting the weeds in our gravel driveway, though. See, the gravel is on top of a weed blanket of some sort that is utterly ineffective. In fact, in early spring, the grass coming up through the gravel looked greener and lusher than what was growing in our lawn. When I finally sprayed, it took about three weeks for the weeds to look dead, and after that, they just looked like tall, dead weeds. Today I raked them all up and pulled about 40 thistles that were growing despite having been sprayed. It looks a lot better, but I am realizing that gravel = bad news.

Overall, I’m really glad to have had this opportunity to take care of a yard before becoming a homeowner. Now I know how much work it takes, for one thing. I also know that, if I can avoid it, I will never own a home with gravel anywhere. I also know how important constant upkeep is if you don’t want to spend hours and hours weeding because years of not doing it have thoroughly seeded your flowerbeds with all sorts of nasty stuff. I’ve learned how to prune rosebushes and other shrubs, and I’ve learned what to do with a garden. With time, I think I could actually develop a true green thumb.

Anyway, we had a great time, including swimming at a hot springs pool, feeding fish at a fish hatchery, going on a hike to a waterfall, visiting a ghost town, meeting a family of chipmunks there, and enjoying witty and intelligent conversation around the fire back at camp. Here are a few pictures. We left our camera behind, so we’re at the mercy of our families to send us lots of pictures. (Hint, hint.)

I told Jonathon to get out of the shower, and we called the landlord and cleaned up the mess with just about every towel we own (we have a lot of towels). Thinking it was the water heater leaking, I turned on the hot water to the sink full blast and didn’t notice any new leaking. Landlord and I thought it was probably a leaking pipe from the water heater to the shower, and if we simply avoided using the shower until it was fixed, we’d be fine.

I washed all the soaked towels and once again found lots and lots of water on the floor. Only this time it was coming up the bathtub drain too. And I noticed that there was sand and poo clogging the drain in the utility closet. The only way sand and poo get into that room is if the water is coming from down, not up. Which means all the water soaking our carpet is sewer water.

Called the landlord back and he said he’d get a plumber right away. I took the kids outside so they wouldn’t be in contact with the nasty carpets, etc. While outside, Lego and a 3.5-year-old neighbor kid, let’s call him B, started arguing and kind of fighting. The kid’s dad and I were each dealing with our own kid while his other kid (2.5 years old) found a can of gasoline in the garage. Thinking it would be really fun to put gas in our Cozy Coupe car, he poured it all over it—with Duplo inside. Duplo got gasoline in his eye and started screaming bloody murder. I freaked out and ran to the water spigot and splashed lots of water into his eye and all over his face. The kid’s dad said he’d watch Lego so I could go to the ER, so I did that. The nearest hospital is 15 minutes away, and Duplo screamed for probably 10 of those minutes (why is it that you get stuck behind people going 5–10 mph under the speed limit when you’re in a hurry?). His eye was red and swollen, and they admitted us right away. Apparently, though, the doctor wasn’t that concerned because we got sent away fairly quickly without him really do anything but check Duplo’s vitals. He said I’d done the right thing by flushing with water and didn’t even chew me out for leaving gas out where a two-year-old could reach it (incidentally, I wasn’t the one who left it there, and that particular kid is quite the acrobat and probably would have gotten to it in most of the places in the garage if he was determined to).

Came back home to an exterminator in our yard and two phone messages from the plumber wondering why I wasn’t at home. The plumber is here now and thinks maybe a tree root is blocking/compressing/whatever the pipe out from the house.

The good news is that the ugly carpet in our hall will have to be replaced and that Duplo is just fine. Also that we’re not the homeowners who get stuck with the bill.

Also, Lego learned to put his face under the water! Apparently, all it took was giving him a pair of goggles. He plugs his nose and closes his mouth and peeks under the water for a second or two. Still, it’s way better than how he was last year in the pool. Hopefully by the end of the summer he’ll try going deeper under the water (right now his nose and mouth barely get wet).

Way to go, guys!

He quieted almost immediately, and went to sleep within three minutes. That’s the first time I realized that this baby definitely had a different personality from Lego’s. Duplo has always been the kind of person who just wants to be left alone to go to sleep, and I’m glad I learned it early. Whereas I’d spent months trying to get Lego to learn to self-settle, Duplo was doing it within days of birth. When he was tired, I’d just put him in his crib with a pacifier and leave the room. It almost seemed too easy, like I was supposed to have to train a kid to do this, rather than just let him do it because he wanted to.

There was a period of about four months where the only way to get him to sleep was to hold a pacifier in his mouth and not let him spit it out, hold him very tight in the cook of your arm, and basically keep him in that death grip until he closed his eyes for a few minutes, then transfer him to bed. I think the problem then was that he was becoming more aware of how much fun the world was, and he needed a firm hand to make him stop having fun and start sleeping. The problem was, at about seven or eight months of age, he stopped liking the pacifier and refused to take it. It was a rough month as we tried to figure out how to get him to sleep without it. Finally, he learned to do what he’d done at birth: just go to sleep himself in his crib. Now, when it’s bedtime or naptime, I just say, “Time for bed, Duplo,” take him in his room, turn off the light, put him in his crib with pillow, blanket, and sometimes a sippy of water, tell him goodnight, and leave the room. He never cries even a little, unless he truly isn’t tired yet, which isn’t often. Nowadays I’m grateful to have two boys who are such good sleepers.

One of my favorites right now is a little book we checked out from the library, called No No Yes Yes by Leslie Patricelli. The entire text of the book is either “no no” or “yes yes,” and it shows a baby doing various things that are wrong, like coloring on the walls or putting toys in the toilet or hitting another baby. You know, stuff that every kid Duplo’s age has tried at least once. The corresponding page will show a “yes yes” to do instead, like coloring on paper, or sitting on the toilet, or playing nicely with the baby. As we read, Duplo will explain the pictures: “No no color wall. Yes yes paper.” He knows all the rules, even the ones he still regularly breaks. It’s kind of awesome.

He’s also starting to call a few of his favorite books by their “names,” like the cricket book, the kiss book, the supper book, etc. By the end of each night, we have quite a pile. Most nights I am happy to read to my little boy, happy for the one-on-one time we get to spend with each other and his favorite books.

We were really consistent about giving timeouts for writing on non-paper and eventually got good at keeping pens out of his reach (crayon washes off more easily). We taught him to write only on paper. There were a few months where I thought he was out of the woods.

He just started doing it again. Who knows why. Today he tried to write on my shirt, on the couch, and on his hand (he succeeded on his hand). I also found highlighter on a few keys of the piano. That’ll wash off, right? Please tell me it will wash off.

His favorite place to drive his cars is on the piano bench, or even on the piano, despite the fact that I always tell him not to and give time outs if he doesn’t listen. The piano bench is now covered with scratches and scuffs from matchbox cars. I wonder how hard/expensive it would be to have it resurfaced after the kids get old enough to treat it more carefully.

Sometimes it makes me so mad when he destroys perfectly good things that will cost money to replace or repair. But I have learned that my love for him wins out over my love for any object in my home, including my beautiful piano. Sometimes parents have to remind themselves, “It’s just a thing, and he’s only one year old.” Over and over and over.