Pollyanna Day 12

Busy day.  This will be short. Sorta.

Today, it's all about the lawn.

Good men.  I live in a neighborhood filled with good, decent men.  I was out in my front yard doing a little clean-up work this morning, when a couple of neighbors/fellow church-goers pulled up in a truck and said, "Hey there, we're just going around turning people's sprinklers on for them for the season."  Translation:  "Hey there, sad single lady with no man around, we know you're a landscape-tard (True Story.  I am.), so we're here to save your lawn."  Can I just say that I love these men?  Now, to all the neighborhood wives who may be reading this, please do not freak.  I mean that in the most non-romantic kinda way.  I love them like you love your mechanic or your gay hairstylist.  Ok?   Side bar:  If your husband IS your mechanic, then disregard what I just said.  And if your husband is a gay hairstylist, well, you've got bigger problems than the lonely neighbor lady and her sprinklers.   But in all seriousness, I'm so thankful for good men who are unselfish with their time and energies, who willingly give of both to make sure a sad single girl like me has a pretty green lawn and clean furnace filters.

Landlords.  My. landlords. ROCK.  Period.  I live in the cutest little house in the cutest little neighborhood, and I adore the people who rent to me.  Do you know what they do for me?  They MOW MY LAWN.  Front and back.  Every week.    They are so, so kind.  They don't want me to have to worry about it. Again, I think it's that poor, pitiful single mom thing that's working for me here.  I'm so not complaining.  I took my kids to the park to play and have a picnic today, and when I came back, my lawn had those pretty diagonal tracks all over it.  I knew the landlords had been here working their magic.  If I needed to do the yard work, I certainly could.  But it's one of those small blessings to know I don't have to think about it.  It's taken care of.