I Love Laying Sod With No Help.
We had to make a sudden move for my husband’s job. I thought, let him choose the apartment–it’ll save us hundreds of dollars–even the drive down and back will cost $100 in gas. Sure, let HIM CHOOSE.
So, he chose. Needless to say, there are numerous problems. Window panes I can pull out. Windows with no screens. An oven with a handle that comes off in my hand everytime I open the oven door. A bathroom with peach tiles and a purple towel rack (oh yes, I did write “peach” and “purple” in the same sentence there). The biggest problem with our new apartment was the back yard. It has a tree with all branches sawed off from a crazy guy who lived here before us, dirt blowing around like a desert, and concrete blocks haphazardly lying around. Of course, my husband thought it looked perfectly fine. Take a look–does this look “FINE”?
After about 6 weeks, I couldn’t tolerate the back “yard” anymore. I told my husband that I’m doing this Saturday. I asked only that he clear his schedule so he can drive the sod to our house–not lay it out, not prepare the dirt, just TRANSPORT it. He complains and wants to procrastinate, of course. “Let’s do it next week. Let’s do it tomorrow.” But I was ready for his tricks, and the answer was NO. We’re doing it Saturday. (Or I guess I should say I’M doing it Saturday.)
He, who has never planted anything, had LOTS of freaking annoying advice about how to plant grass. It’s annoying the crap out of me, but whatever. I just totally ignore everything he says on the topic but do manage to avoid saying mean things.
So, Friday I spend literally 6 hours shoveling dirt as hard as concrete to soften it up. Saturday rolls around. He gets the sod from the store, brings it all out to the yard. WOW, I’m really proud of him. Then says he’s going to HELP me. Oh my gosh! But he has to “get something at the store” first.
Three hours later, the sod has turned into crisp pieces of dried grass and crumbly dirt. No joke. I can’t wait any longer because as I know from my research, the sod might die. Then all these hours toiling in the dirt and hot sun would be worthless.
I call my husband: “Thanks for helping me. Where are you?”
Answer: Getting my oil changed. True story. Nevertheless, here is how our yard turned out–ignore the fact that my husband hasn’t mowed it in a long time:
