The XX Factor: What women really think.

Lawn Ornaments

Rachael, I've got to back you up on this one, but for different reasons.

First, let me say as the freelancing, stay-at-home mother of a very active 2-year-old that those plastic eyesores save my life on a daily basis between the months of April and October, when we're able to be outside. I, too, am in the 'burbs—well, technically I'm not, being in Kansas City, Mo., proper, but to most city dwellers, my neighborhood of single family homes built in the 1920s would look suburban enough. I don't buy the Little Tikes car, the basketball hoop, or the myriad plastic containers of bubbles strewn across my lawn because I have any illusion that they look nice. I'm not trying to keep up with the Joneses; I'm merely trying to keep the peace. Get cooped up with a toddler screaming for no discernible reason, and you'll be running outside for primary colors, too—anything that will stop the screaming, provide a diversion, create a distraction. And the reason those toys are still strewn across the lawn? Because someone fell down and commenced a new fit of screaming, which needed to be tended to right away by rushing inside for a Band-Aid.

There's another key phrase here: Going to a playground becomes too exhausting for a parent to contemplate. Much of parenthood, I have found, is fueled by decisions unfortunately made because of exhaustion. I'm guessing that Michael Pollan's youth of playing in the lilac and forsythia, held up as what we should be aspiring to, had a very different reality than those of kids today. Even those who "stay home," such as myself, are typically doing some work from home, so that when 8 p.m. rolls around, kids are in bed, and there's time to take the wagon off the front lawn, there's little drive to do so. When I worked full-time, at 8 p.m. I was packing up for the next day of shuttling people off to day care before I passed out; now I'm going up to start my last shift of the evening, writing for whatever deadline I currently have.

This article also reminded me of a recent conversation I had with a rather well-off businessman here in Kansas City who was lamenting people living in suburban developments that are so self-contained, people rarely need to leave them. I don't live in one of them—yet. As I tried to explain to him that the cost of keeping my house in Kansas City proper, fashionably close to the urban core, was going to become prohibitively expensive once my son hit high school (Kansas City, Mo., public schools are notoriously very bad, as they are in D.C., where I used to live—with a few, hard-to-get-into exceptions, they're not an option unless you want to seriously gamble with your child's education), it was like my argument fell on deaf ears. Well, not deaf ears—just more-monied ones failing to appreciate that much as I don't necessarily prefer a beige house in a suburb with no trees, I might not be able to afford the current $9,000-a-year tuition (who knows what it will be in 12 years) needed to send my son to a decent school if I stay in my house and remain in my profession (either freelancing or back at a full-time job). A cheaper house in the lawn-ornamented suburbs where public schools are good will probably make more financial sense for our family, eventually. So you see, it all goes back to economics. Are leafy streets of houses with varied architecture and perhaps fewer swing sets preferable? To many, yes. Are they affordable for most families in the long haul? Certainly not with the way the economy seems to be headed. 

The Burbs Are Alright

Once upon a time, a nice house in the suburbs with yard enough to contain energetic children served as a snapshot of the American dream. But these days, those of us who rationally weigh the pros and cons of urban vs. suburban living and end up on a quiet cul-de-sac in a good school district are feeling the heat. For example, in a Slate "Culturebox" posted today, Tom Vanderbilt decries the hostile takeover of the American lawn by ugly plastic toys and giant swing-sets that no one ever plays on. As the owner of a too-large suburban home and accompanying "enormous swing-set with a plastic slide," I feel compelled to defend my honor.

First, a note about those plastic toys. While they might be unsightly, they are durable, safe (no splinters or jagged rusty metal), and affordable. We have a few that get hauled into the garage each night, but the main feature of our backyard is a sturdy wooden play set with swings, a slide, a rock-climbing wall and other accessories. When the weather is nice, and occasionally even when there's a foot of snow on the ground, my two sons play on it probably two or three hours a day. That leaves many hours of the day when one could pass by and see it looking lonely and abandoned, but it is by far their favorite plaything. However much or little they use it, it was a worthwhile investment. It can accommodate the dozen or so kids who live on our street, or our passel of nephews, or even all of them at the same time. It provides exercise, helps develop agility and self-confidence, and even jolts the imagination, as the kids are always coming up with games whose rules and objectives escape me. One of the knocks on parents these days is that we either park the kids in front of the TV for six hours with a bag of chips, or we hover over them obsessively and overbook them with dance, gymnastics, karate, and swimming lessons. To me, having some toys in the yard to go climb on is a remedy to both of those ills.

I admit to getting a little rankled when I read burb-bashing pieces. For one, they make me feel like the subject of an anthropological study. "Who are these strange creatures, and why do they choose this alien lifestyle?" (Frankly, I don't understand the fascination. I don't sit around wondering why people in the city prefer to live in small apartments on noisy streets; I figure they have logical reasons for doing so.) For another, such pieces can fall back on stereotyping and generalization. Admittedly, the cookie-cutter houses and the parade of indistinguishable SUVs contribute to that, but it lacks intellectual rigor to say we're all alike. One stereotype in particular bugs me: the one about how we come home from work, park our cars in our huge garages, then go inside our big-box houses and don't socialize with the outside world. That has not been my experience anywhere I've lived, but I do think there is an applicable kernel of truth in there. If I may indulge in one generalization, I've found that—aside from the occasional nosy homeowner's association president whom we all ignore—people in the burbs tend to adhere to a live-and-let-live ethos. You think a garden is a good use for your lawn? Good for you; plant it. Have fun with the weeds and the bugs, and I'll do my best to keep my kids from trampling it. But on my little patch of green space, I vastly prefer the sights and sounds of children laughing and playing. Your "garish blight" just happens to be my harmony.