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I had previously mentioned that I had been busy planting grass in our backyard lately.

Now you probably want to stop me right here and say, "Yeah, so what? You planted grass. Whoopee. I'll alert the media." Well, as anyone who's been over to our house can tell you, our backyard has a history of being craptacular. Not only is the backyard sloped, but it's full of rocks (slope + rocks = bonus rainwater for our neighbor). We've never been able to get grass to grow back there. Maybe in a few spots, but nothing that approaches A Lawn. So getting grass to grow would be a big achievement, at least for me.

And I think we've done it.

Let me tell you something: It was royal bitch and a half. Beth and I dug up the topsoil (by hand), pulled out about eight wheelbarrow loads of rocks (several as big as my melon head), threw down grass seed, gently raked over it, and then watered the piss out of it. Every stinking day. And twice on Sundays.

Although this Before Picture was taken about six years ago, our backyard has looked like this pretty much all the time (minus Kitty, although--ironically--she's still in the backyard).

And here's the After Picture. We've still got some bald spots, but it's still growing. We've haven't run a lawnmower across it yet, but that's next.

Of course, now the goal is to sell the house before it all dies off and goes back to looking like the surface of the moon. My bet is that we have until November.