I have gotten quite effective at leaving my daughters to their own schedules now that they are technically adults. If you’ve followed my columns at all, you realize how difficult it was for me to come to peace with letting them run their own lives. My position as family scheduler officially ended with my youngest daughter’s leave of her formative years in the public school system. Meaning, she graduated from high school last year.

However, they both still live at home. They are in college and to save money they are commuting together an hour away from home. These days my interest in their comings and goings are only for my own selfish purposes – are they available for chores?

I’m aware my daughters will never leap out of bed on a day off from work or school and say, “What can we do to serve you mother?” But with my mind free to rent power tools from Home Depot and dig new flower beds in my backyard, my daughters are never far from my mind. Or rather their whereabouts are not.

Summer for me is a chance to build up my backyard and maintain my front yard garden. Because gardening is one of my hobbies, for the most part I don’t require my family to help with the regular maintenance. But under extraneous circumstances, like a load of steer manure blend in the back of my husband’s truck, I say, “ALL HANDS ON DECK.”

I’d like to think my kids appreciate how hard I’ve worked to create a fun yard where they can bring their friends throughout all the phases of their lives. From swing set days, trampoline adventures, reclaiming the main yard from the dogs with well-placed fences, to its current transformation with a fire pit and the glorious gardens I’m building now.

I finished tilling up a new area in my backyard last week. My husband was nursing an injury and couldn’t help physically, though he drove the truck to Home Depot and back. A fork lift loaded the pallet onto the truck, the last leg of preparations were almost in place. I needed someone to help unload the bags. My daughters can certainly help unload a bunch of poop, though they may feel it’s more symbolic than literal. At least they were bags of steer manure and not a truck full of loose poo, though I’ve done that, too.

Once parked at home, I stormed into the house to find my victim. My oldest was at work, my youngest dared still be in bed. I poked my head in, “How would you like to help me unload bags of steer manure blend from the truck?” To be fair, I didn’t warn her beforehand. I’ve always felt springing things on them is an easier way to gain compliance.

She didn’t mind helping me. It was late enough in the morning that my vampire daughter had adequate sleep. I was a bit concerned she’d go out into the sun and melt, but all was well. I wondered if she had known I was headed home with a truckload of steer manure, if she would have found an excuse to leave the house. Regardless, she was there and we finished it quickly, also thanks to the utility cart my family gave me for my birthday in June.

With my mind freed from my daughters’ schedules, the tables have turned. Maybe they should be more concerned with what I’m doing these dog days of summer.

Gretchen Leigh is a stay-at-home mom who lives in Covington.