The Call of the Yard

We don't have a yard, per se. We have two 10 ft. x 10 ft. beds in front of our apartment that are tended to by no one but JLR and me. At first, I wasn't too enthusiastic about messing with them, other than planting our annual "let's see how long they last before we manage to kill them this year" flowers. But, strangely, the plants we planted have not died (except for the daisies; I finally had to admit that they're dead, and they're not coming back). We've been so pleased with the results that we've caught some sort of yard fever. We've decided to do something with the bed in front of the vacant apartment next door, and this morning JLR mumbled something about the bed across from that. Money I had planned to save for a new pair of glasses is now being spent on mulch, sandstone, lavender, and pea gravel. Friday nights consist of a trip to Home Depot and a mosquito-ridden evening in the "yard." I don't know what we're going to do. Is there a cure? Taking a look at my parents, I would say the answer is "no."