Day 115: Mowing the lawn

NEVER AGAIN. Never again will I mow the lawn! I would rather pay someone to cut my grass then ever have to step behind that monstrosity of a sealed fate of misery.

Let me tell you that right now I am so tired and red-cheeked from the earlier nightmare that my sister just told me I look stoned. Of course, my dad just had to pick today to cut the grass, one of the hottest days we’ve had so far this year. And if you don’t think that it was that hot out, my question is this: Were you pushing a freakin’ heavy mower up and down and all around for an hour and a half in the middle of the afternoon? No? Well, there you have it. Of course the day wasn’t hot for you in your air-conditioned office.I now have so much more respect and maybe even awe for landscapers and construction men working in the summer heat.

My dad said that if I really wanted to fully do the job right, I had to weed whack also. OK, no big deal, I’m already signed up for a heat stroke and rubber-band legs, a few more minutes of torture is nothing. Well… that’s what I thought before I tried it. It wasn’t that the weed whacker was a bit heavy or that the heat coming from the motor was hot on my arm that made it miserable. It was the fact that I simply couldn’t get the hang of it. My fingers and feet are trigger- and pedal- happy, and I kept revving the motor too much. I couldn’t ever get a clean cut- either I didn’t cut the grass at all or I got earth chunks coming at me. About 10 minutes and not much progress later, I turned to my dad and said, “This is hard and takes forever!” His reply? “That’s because you’re slow.”Thanks, Dad. (He did, however, inform me that I was the only other person in my family that tried using the weed whacker. This made me feel a little more accomplished.)

Fortunately for me (not for him), the weed whacker started sputtering and died on us. THANK YOU, LORD! I have always had bad luck with anything electrical, but this might have been the first time that I was happy about it! Needless to say, I didn’t even touch a fraction of the weeds that needed whacking before it died. Darn. :)

The mower was much easier to use and after cutting a small area, my dad asked me why I was going backwards half the time. Hahaha, oops. I guess it would make sense to turn the mower around and go the opposite direction, huh? Then, while my dad proceeded to show me how to line up the wheels with my previous tracks, so as to make straighter lines, a neighbor walking by stopped and, with his arms, signaled to me where a straight line from me to him would be. We all have our “I’m an idiot” moments… mine just tend to happen in the public eye and usually include some ridicule. Oh well… I had my sunglasses on (which my dad instructed me are most necessary in preventing runaway stones, twigs or dirt from getting in your eye), maybe he won’t recognize me next time I walk past his house.

Now, for those of you who have never seen my yard, I’ll do my best to describe it to you. I have never thought of it as being a big yard, but half-way through mowing the front yard, I swiftly decided that my yard was big. Too big. Way too big. And just to add to the mowing fun, let’s add a hill! The whole front yard is a hill… I hate hills. I hate running them, I hate trying to get my car up them, and I hate mowing them. I was literally jogging on the steeper parts of the hill to try to keep enough momentum to push the mower up. And no, it’s not that I’m weak… it’s just that I’ve slacked a bit this winter on my arm muscles. OK, I’m weak.

After what seemed like a century, I took a break and went inside for some water. I was only a third of the way through the mowing. Ugh! I was sweating so much that I couldn’t see through my make-up melted eyes.

I went back outside and was determined not to take another break, but to blitz the job in one go. What seemed like hours later (but was really only 1 hour later), I rolled the mower to the driveway, crawled inside, and told my mom I was never mowing the lawn again.

I would rather iron 5 baskets of laundry or do a kitchen-full load of dishes or change 100 poopy diapers before I ever do yard work. I hate yard work.

I’m praying that either my future husband loves mowing the lawn or that we have some spare change to pay a neighbor kid to do it, because I will not do it again. (Unless of course I get a riding mower!)

And now that I’ve ranted on and on to you (like a pathetic, ungrateful, prissy female), I am going to bed. Not only am I tired, but tomorrow I’m going to take a hike to see the beautiful sunrise! Goodnight!

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