Don't Tell Dad

I have a secret. But don't tell my dad. Dad's lawn is always immaculate. If there was an award for the thickest, lushest, greenest, most manicured lawn on the block, Dad would have always won. And it was great to play and lay on.

But my lawn, that's another matter. Here's my secret: I like dandelions. SHHHH! I like to think of them as a little bit rebellious as they burst out of the sea of sameness. And I like the grass to get a little longish--and not purely out of laziness. It creates a little sense of wildness and disorder. I live in a place where the property owner is responsible (or so I've been told) for lawn care. I'm kinda hoping he takes his time . . .whilst my lawn is meanwhile being overrun by dandelions and pansies.
The trees out my kitchen window shelter a nice shady patch of grass that is bursting with dots of yellow, purple and white. I almost enjoy doing the dishes. Almost.

And to think 3 weeks ago it looked like this: