If anyone tells you that they enjoy push-mowing their lawn, you should immediately demand some of the crack they are smoking. Or ask for the name of their landscaper.
Y'all, let me tell you something. I would rather do just about anything than push-mow a lawn EVER again. I mowed our front and back lawns this morning as a gift to my sweet husband, but I think I will still to baking cookies and making sweet tea for him to enjoy after HE mows from now on.
Long story short, I am off school today and the lawns need to be mowed. House needs to be cleaned too, but my thought process was--mow in the morning while it's relatively cool, clean in the afternoon in the air conditioning. Seemed like a good idea at the time.
Heard that one before?
I dutifully cleaned up all the dog business in the yard, a pre-mowing ritual at our house. Then I dragged the little red mower out of the shed and put it in position. I pulled back the little handle, and pulled the cord with all my might, but nothing happened. Ok.
I repeated the process. Nothing. Ok. I checked the gas. Plenty. I repeated the process. Nothing. Ok, little red mower. I have two degrees and wrangle 7th graders for a living. You will not outsmart me.
Well, the mowing was supposed to be a surprise for Brian, but do I want to surprise him more than I want to accomplish the task? Not today, my friends, so I called him to ask how to start the darn thing.
"Well, did you choke it?" he asked after he picked himself up off the floor from the shock of my intention to mow the grass. "Uh, choke, you say? What is the choking you speak of?" I replied.
Apparently there is a little red button on the front of the mower that "primes" the machine after it's been sitting. Ah hah. Push one, two, three. Repeat the starting ritual, and voila! A live lawn mower!
I proceeded to mow the top tier of our lawn with little trouble, but there are places that will benefit from the attention of the weed eater. The May flies were taking off the grass by the thousands as I rolled along, and I discovered one shouldn't have their mouth hanging open while mowing the grass, struggling for breath the hard way. Oh well, a little extra protein never hurt anyone.
My next challenge was the bottom tier of the yard. Narrow and down about 5 steps. I wrestled the mower down there and chopped down the enormous, gnarly weeds. But the grass was a little too dewy still and it bunched up under the mower and trapped the blade. I did discover this after turning off the mower. I still have all my digits, but they are a bit stained from the kelly green wet mess I had to extract from under the mower. Grrr.
Next was the front yard. In the hot morning March sun. Neighbors I have never seen before are waving as they drive by as if to say, "Howdy! Bout dang time you did something about this lawn, lady! Making the neighborhood look bad!"
I'm also not real good with the grass boundary with the neighbors, so those lines look a little like I was drinking a Stella while walking along. Unfortunately, I am not that coordinated or I might have tried. (I miss the riding mower. There was a cup holder on it. Sigh.)
But, the grass is mowed. You can't say it isn't. I haven't attempted the weed eater yet, but something tells me that Brian will have to do that. I have some cookies to bake.
My grass is kicked.
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